Irresistible Sunday

By Aruna Gurumurthy
Mother’s Day is like every day—
watching the inverted A and B, catching her in my arms as she wiggles, 
posing for poetry and posterity
with a petite bunch of flowers.
A lovely lunch, favorite “red pasta,” heart throbs sublime into a sweet voice.
Every day is Mother’s Day, filling the day, finding the mother.

This year is all about finding me, finding a mother.
May the thirteenth, an irresistible Sunday,
I wake up to the high pitch of my toddler’s voice.
I see her waves, wobble, wiggle. 
A petite bouquet she cannot handle, instead, she hands me the flowers.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mommy! She sings as we string the pearls of posterity.

What does it mean anyway? To string those pearls of posterity?
Don’t give up, tomorrow never dies, now and forever—the words of a mother.
On a purple shimmering card, a dance in the air, the dew on a flower,
it feels just like that. With a sparkle in her eye, on this undone Sunday,
I walk hand in hand with her, but she, out of my hand, wiggles. 
Me and mini-me strum the moment, drum the magic in her voice.

At the restaurant, I nod to the micro syllables of her voice,
asking for peace and posterity.
She is flipping in her chair, and her crayons wiggle
as she jiggles away on paper with artsy rhythm—the heartbeats of a mother.
I wish every day is a day like this, an irresistible Sunday,
sniffing the sweet scent off flowers.

The mélange of flowers,
the glee, moves my heart, touches my voice.
Come back to me, dear darling, every day, every Sunday. 
We hold hands, swaying for a million years, to posterity.
I am so lucky, so blessed to be your mother. 
Love calls, my heart wiggles.

And I too wiggle—
bringing us back in time, laying down a bed of flowers.
I am so lucky, so blessed to be your daughter, dear Mother! 
Those years pass like exits on the highway, your timeless beauty, your voice.
I hear you calling, I hear you from posterity
today and every single, shining day.

The whys and the wisdom of a mother, the sweeping rejoice in her voice
Her heart tumbles, she wiggles. She is a bloom of flowers!
Together, we spread our plumes and march to posterity, this happy mother’s day.
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