We can't help but love our mothers,
especially since she died.
Aging and trouble are over, too,
and all you have to do is wipe the glass from the frame.
Love is so clean that there's nothing left.
While she lives, full of problems.
Our love for her is nothing,
Or hidden.
Set that brittle, thin photo on fire,
creating a little fireworks.
We think we can love a living mother,
when in fact it was she who loved us when she was alive.
There are many, many poems about mothers, so why does this one strike me so y? "We think we can love a living mother, when in fact it was she who loved us when she was alive." This is a shocking poem that completely bowled me over. At the end of the night, when I carefully reflect on the years I have lived with my mother, is it not true that our relationship with my mother is just as this poem suggests?
My mother has just passed her prime, but she is weak and sickly, and as long as I'm not with her, I'm always worried about her health. My cell phone is never in arrears, always on line, I am always afraid that if my mother meets with an emergency I can not contact me. "We can't help but love our mothers", although it is the title of a poem, after I read it, it felt like the name of a codex, and from then on I always thought of it from time to time when I spent time with my mother. I often think, such a poem, if read by a mother is no longer alive, will be how heartbreaking?
As a poetry writer, I myself have written many poems to my mother, such as "my mother, do not need carnations", "my mother, will not dance", "mother is sick", "Tonight, I want to sleep in the arms of my mother," etc., but why I wrote the poem is not so profoundly contagious, in the final analysis, I think I'm not filial enough, to the great love of the mother is still not deep enough to experience. As the poem says, "When she lived, she was full of problems", mothers and children are not from the same era, and it is natural that they have different concepts of life. For example, my mother's family was poor when she was young, and often said that when she was a child, she dropped a bun crumb, and her grandmother would pick it up and eat it, but now it's really a different time, and every time my children drop a bun, my wife will let her children pick it up and throw it into the garbage can. Such a small thing often puts me in a dilemma.
In the past, for my mother's paranoia or the unreasonable life of some trivial matters, I can not tolerate, often lose their temper, not move a burst of anger. The first thing I'd like to say is that I don't know what to say, but I'd like to say that I don't know what to say, and I'd like to say that I don't know what to say. Thinking about it now, I really regret the disrespect I showed my mother in the past, but words spoken are like water thrown out, they cannot be taken back. After reading this poem, many times I have been in the silence of the night, carefully recalling these years and mother with the time, I can not help but ripples in the heart, I feel that I owe my mother is really too much. It is often said that a bowl of water when you are alive is better than a play after the past. I y understand, to filial piety, before it is too late.
In the past two years, the number of times I have argued with my mother has become less and less, and many of my mother's habits remain unchanged, but I am no longer with my mother. These years, the family's major and minor, I try to go along with the mother's intention to do. Last year, I bought a new house, is a decorated model house, mother said after looking at the TV wall wallpaper does not look good, to change a lotus pattern, his wife was adamantly opposed to the cartoon pattern is very good, do not need to change, change both cost and waste of time, there is formaldehyde. But I slowly persuaded my wife to agree to my mother's request. Mother lived in the countryside for a lifetime, it is not easy to live in a new house in the city, although I can not let my mother live in how luxurious, but should always let my mother live in a comfortable and cozy right? TV wall this thing, every day low head not see head up to see, mother does not like the original pattern, let her for this matter all day unhappy, sulking, not worth it.
After reading this poem, I never yelled at my mother again, and I really can't resolve the conflict, so I'm going to restrain myself and keep quiet. We can't help but love our mothers", now, this poem is like a command, has been y imprinted on my heart.
(The author's unit is the Bureau of Education and Sports of Weibin District, Baoji City, Shaanxi Province)
China Education News, February 25, 2022, page 4
By Chen Park