I like how Mother’s Day arrives
On the cusp of summer
Transitions of hope
And warm anticipations
If you walk the trail along the lake
It lingers of redbud, violet, and lilac
And so at our dinner table
We eat them with some bread
Where is dad?
Oh, he’s out in the yard,
Coiling up the hose
And mowing the lawn again.
Where is mom?
Oh, she’s out in the garden,
Hands in the soil,
Preparing for the apocalypse.
— Andrew Seaman, May 2025
Stepping Back 