mother's day

Milieu is the right word for it—

it holds more than what the eye can see

like a garden—

flourish is the best way to describe it—

nurtured by Mothering hands

but growing on its own terms.

Which way will that vine crawl?

Both up and across, free,

wherever she may live, wild

profound and broad like an ocean

with life unseen,

hidden, the Sea’s secret,

unknown by divers—

her vast reserves captured by no thief.

indefinite certainty,

ground of the air

this milieu is what you made

Mother’s Day

a poem by Troy Cady

for Heather