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Every once in a great while, I publish a poem of mine. My mother passed at 94, in a nursing home on Long Island, NY. Because of COVID we were unable to visit her, to hold her hand, to look into her deep blue eyes. I hope this poem speaks to you in some way…

Mother, Mother, Mother
For Rita Baum Holder (1926 to 2020)

Rita Baum Holder

Mother, Mother, Mother
she pushes me
from her pubic
portal.

Mother, Mother, Mother
my hungry lips
on her maternal
nipple

Mother, Mother, Mother
you held
you released
my trembling hand
on Kindergarten’s first day
to the clutches
of Mrs. Saint

Mother, Mother, Mother
on the beachhead of adolescent battles
“Why can’t you be like other young men?
Nelson Eddy on his mount
strong, so straight
crooning
to Jeanette….

Mother, Mother, Mother
I hold your wizened hand
and again return
to that dark tunnel
leading to the light
of Grand Central.
Later
my hand
blisters
and bleeds.

Mother, Mother, Mother
your voice
moans like a foghorn
adrift in
a terminal
sea.

I Love you. I love you, I love you.

— Doug Holder

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To have your work considered for the Lyrical send it to:
Doug Holder, 25 School St.; Somerville, MA 02143
dougholder@post.harvard.edu