Driving and Biking in the Big City

My Daughter, My Mother

with 3 comments

Three generations

Three generations

On a recent workday, I was asked what job I would have if money didn’t matter. I said I would be a poet. And, in fact, I write poetry all the time and now, occasionally, can print it in this blog. This is  a circle of life poem, written after my daughter was born. I read this poem as part of my mom’s eulogy, about 12 years ago. My only memory of my experience at the pulpit was to look at my 18-year-old daughter and realize she was hearing it for the first time at her grandmother’s funeral. It was written as much for Laura as it was for my mom on this Mother’s Day.

My Daughter, My Mother

My mother, my daughter
the future and past
cuddled together in the same warm bed.

Everything I ran from;
Everything I ran to.
The link seemed sweet and strong
in the quiet dark of my late night homecoming.

Mother stirred,
saw me standing beside the bed
and glanced at the clock.

But she didn’t complain at the hour.
No lectures at 2 a.m. this night, just smiles.

No, I can’t leave her there, I said.
I’ll be gentle and won’t disturb her sleep.

Then I took the softest blanket
and wrapped the warmest, smallest body in love.

After a thank you and a kiss to the past,
I walked away with the future in my arms.

Denise Bray Hensley


Written by commuterchroniclesdbh

May 12, 2013 at 8:53 am

3 Responses

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  1. Love this. Your eulogy at the funeral made me cry, it was so lovely. ❤


    May 12, 2013 at 10:18 pm

    • Ironically, Janet, one of my favorite memories of my mom is this experience at her funeral. I may have told you the whole story and may someday share it in this blog. Still a bit tender.


      May 13, 2013 at 5:06 pm

  2. This is beautiful.


    June 14, 2013 at 4:53 am

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