A Poem for Mothers



Still huggable, and yet the time is near

when hugs will be neatly avoided and

a circle of arms reduced to one hand.

That kiss on the hurt place will be rare–fear

a confession not readily made. Year

turns to year and every sad time they stand

by the measuring wall, they’ve grown. Fast sand

pours through the hourglass like water, clear

as the knowledge that all things must change…cold

as the empty space when it happens. Wild

though the days were, these times seem so hushed, when

there’s no one in the hollow house to hold

except the love-starved cat. Until your child

is old enough enough to act the child again.

-Judith L. Roth


About Judith L. Roth

When I was about ten, it occurred to me that books are written by people and I was a person. I could create my favorite things–I could write books! I got a B.A. in English. My first poem was accepted for publication before I graduated. I had some success with poetry, but my real dream was to write fiction for children. My first fiction piece was accepted about 25 years after the first submission. Things you might want to know about me: I know how to persevere. I’m a third-generation California native, living in Indiana. I have two remarkable sons who are now young men,and a husband who’s supported my writing for over three decades. I love cats and currently have three of them. I love being near water–oceans, lakes, rivers all work for me. Chocolate is probably my biggest downfall. I’m exceptionally curious. (Or nosy, as my family calls it.)

One response »

  1. Yes. You got it perfectly. Few and far between are the quick smooches that hit your cheek while they are on the run. Every once in a while I get the hugs and the soft, “My little mommy!” from my big son, or the tight hugs from a stressed out daughter at the end of her long day. And the funny ones, “I’m tired, can I ride in the cart?” at the grocery store. At 34 she doesn’t fit anymore.

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