Mother's Day Invocation

When my only daughter was born, I lived in my family’s huge old former boarding house, the Tucker Hotel, in Omaha. We lived with my mother and grandmother, my oldest son, and my youngest brother. And for a short time, there were four generations of powerhouse Tucker women under one roof.

My mom and daughter both live in Little Town now, about 20 minutes from me, and my daughter just found out she’ll be a first-time mom herself around Thanksgiving. So if she has a girl, there will once again be four generations of Tucker women under one [slightly bigger] roof. What an amazing, comforting continuity.

So here’s to grandmas, moms, daughters and granddaughters everywhere—the powerhouses that keep this wonky planet wobbling…

INVOCATION

If you were any more alive in me, Mother,
my heart would burst, split open
like a ripe peach soaked in holy water.

Whisper from every corner of this clapboard
cathedral, Our Lady of Perpetual Chores,
your small and powerful prayers:

white coral bells
itsy bitsy spider
battle hymn of the republic

Chant caramel pudding and corn casserole
recipes, ancient sacred texts handed down
from your own mother, that dark marble saint

atop the bell tower, one arm wrapped around
a gilded laundry basket, a silver pressure cooker
cradled in the other. Her heart, too, burst open.

Keep me, I ask, in your blessing of trying, failing,
laughing about failure. Grant me the grace
of history, repeated mistakes, promises.

Look down on me with love when they raise you
to the bell tower, at the way I sing your praises
off-key, from behind my daughter’s stove.