A mother to wish for

Trish’s long fingers graze the door knob.

the aroma of pumpkin bread carried through the rest of the house

She wields plastic bags and her personal leather bag all the same.

On the floor, I gaze up at her wondering Pot roast or shepherd's pie

Bags under her eyes tell the story of a tedious day

As she boils the water on the black stove

my child patience depletes and I whine.  

She stepped away from the glossy burner

she opens the refrigerator and pulled out a few wands of celery

to hold me over for a little while.

Her eyes show an unconditional love

truly a mother to wish for.