MY MOTHER TAUGHT ME

My mother taught me not to envy.
There is always someone
smarter, prettier, richer she said.
Yet I once saw a small child—
say four or five or perhaps six—
standing with her father
and leaning into him so close
that their shadow was one entity.
And an envy I could not control
rose within me for the kind of father
I never had, and I would have traded
every bit of smart, pretty or rich
for such fatherly love.

Many times I saw my grown son
hold his newborn baby daughter
in the crook of his bent arm
as he sat rich as a king who had
everything he ever wanted
and I felt that some minus within me
had turned into some plus within him.
I give thanks for whatever gods
taught me how to raise a father.

Beverly Spence