On Mother’s Day

by Thomas Davis

Outside winds howled with snow and bitter cold.
The phone rang: “Mrs. Davis?” asked a girl.
She sounded frightened. “Yes?” Her voice controlled,
too soft, the girl said, “Kevin…” Strong emotions swirled
into the howling of the storm, the cold, the snow.
“I’m scared,” she said at last. His mother caught her breath.
He’s hours away, she thought. It’s twenty-five below.
The roads are ice. This is a night for death.
“I’ll wait here with him, but you have to come.”
No cars were on the road that late at night.
She crawled across the miles, the constant drum
of howling winds accentuating fright
that made her fierce when, shaken, stunned,
she put her arms around her struggling son.


Filed under poems, Poetry, Thomas Davis

19 responses to “On Mother’s Day

  1. Such is a Mother’s Love… excellent 🙂

  2. What a memory to keep hold of! And a fine tribute too.

  3. Dear Thomas – I think of you, I think of Ethel, i think of myself and I think of our sons. No matter how many years pass there are days when the pain is so fresh it sears. Thank you for sharing this beautiful, heartbreaking poem.
    Hugs across the oceans.
    Tricia xx

    • Tricia, we have to go on from tragedy and live our lives, but sometimes small things remind us, don’t they? And then you are stunned for a moment. I don’t think you ever get truly past the death of a son. You just learn to weave it into the tapestry of hours and days and not let it ruin who you are even though it’s always there as a shade in the tapestry. Thanks so much for reading the sonnet.

  4. Please pass on my belated Happy Mother’s Day wishes to Ethel and blessings to you both and all your family, Tom. I’m not here often enough, but follow your (and Ethel’s) magnificent poetry and other heartfelt, soulful offerings through FB. Sending lots of love and hugs, Diane

  5. Poignant beyond words, Thomas. Sending love and hugs to you both and hoping to catch up with reading more soon.

  6. You are of course an artist but beyond that also a live and estimable human being, as is Ethel. From this tragedy, engraved in time and rhyme, come beauty, honour, reverence and honour.

    It reminded me of Samson’s riddle. (Judges 14)

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