We Are the Other Mothers

We are the Other Mothers-
The ones for whom this role
does not slide
like putty-soft gloves stitched
onto our warm and open hands.

We wince
when a broom falls
a couch slides

Wince
at the moments that pelt us
the screams bangs shouts

We are the ones who can’t see
the brevity of the storm-
only wince blurrily as we
hunker down
and wait for it to all be over.

We are not the
family portrait people, not the
Christmas letter writers.

We are the ones trying to
notice that when the light hits us all
just right
we look beautiful
together.