A sonnet for my mother ~

This week, coming up to Mother’s Day, I’ve been reading poems on and about mothers. Forgetting that I’ve written several myself, for my own mother.

Many address her gradual spiral into the darkness of Alzheimer’s, but this one less so. Instead? It’s an ode to her love of sweet Southern tea, iced or hot, with lots of tart lemon to offset the small snowdrift of sugar she insisted on.

This one is for you, Mommy. I miss you still ~

A Tea Sonnet for my Southern Mother ~

I drink iced tea the way my mother did
but not as sweet, and with a little mint.
A wedge (or two) of lemon, Mother said,
would take the sweetness down to just a hint
of the three teaspoons she would ladle in.
These days I spoon wild honey from a farm
just down the road. A pale thin gold, like sun
this foggy day, the honey stirs a storm
within my glass. It thickens into cloud,
then dissipates, dissolving bit by bit.
I drink it, and say my mother’s name aloud.
My mother just her name, the rest undone.
Nothing remains, but sweetness on the tongue.

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