Walking last night past a city bodega around about nine
I was dazed at the sight of a long, cheerful customer line
wrapped around its street corner. Couldn’t fathom or gauge
what these sweet friendly people of every persuasion and age
were all waiting to buy. What were the lures, the engagements?
"What's up?" I asked. "Oh God! The flower arrangements!"
A Mexican florist had managed to spew this miraculous rout
of inventively beautiful blooms. Why? (Oh Guy.) I figured it out -
and needlessly shouted to all in the queue: "Aha! Mothers' Day!"
They did not cry "Yay!" in reply, but sparkled on cue at the way
I at last had come to. (My mom, her two boys and her spouse
had convened for five decades endowing the Kettelhack house
with their versions of how most Americans choose to take part
in the requisite holidays. But Mother's Day: that day had heart.)