In cold months, I wear The sweaters, caps and scarves you knitted, Feeling your love In their warm embrace.
I picked the yarn, We picked the designs together, Poring over knitting design books, and the Internet. You brought them to life with your deft hands. We walked around the neighborhood one night As we sometimes did, when you were here. You saw the moon, and Venus next to it.
You stopped suddenly, saying “This is very special. I will wish for something for you. But the wish is a secret.” On my birthday, You made payasam, And some of my favorite dishes Seasoned with love. I despaired when my little one Baffled me in ways I could not predict, And your laughter brought relief and reassurance. When I got angry or stubborn, engaging in a pointless war of wills with a tired six-year-old, Your firm words and arms protected her.
Your wisdom and counsel were much-needed and so welcome: “You have to explain to a child Why she shouldn’t do something. Tell her kindly.”
You came hundreds of miles to see me
When my mother died.
When you were leaving, you said “Never ever think that you don’t have a mother. I am your mother.”
Now and always, Mother.