What we did on Mother's Day

A movie and dinner for Mother's Day, The Ghost Writer, an engaging suspense drama, and dinner at the Clinton Street Fish House, where we haven't been for a while. A good day.

I didn't write this sonnet years ago with Mother's Day in mind but it seems to work.

Of all affection known to man or beast;

of all the ways we relate each to each,

to talk, embrace and cry, and try to teach

the other who we are: the very feast

of love, without which at the very least

would life be insecure and at such risk

that death might well win out; the soft kiss

of love the mother gives her child, her breast

the suckled nourishment of all s/he knows -

this is love that cannot be more pure.

Male lovers in their quest of love bestow

romance as often illness as its cure.

            Love is not the sting of Cupid's darts;

            Love is the most womanly of arts.

Mother's Day was a very big deal in my family growing up, much more so than Father's Day.

A day of prep for scene workshops in class tomorrow. Always a fun and hopefully enlightening exercise.