The Beckoning

The Beckoning

She calls to me, from the sunroom,
Mental images acknowledge her voice,
I continue in my playworld without hesitation.
Again, the voice summons me,
Agitated, yet carefree, I accept the beckoning call.
I return to her watchfulness.
She calls to me, amidst the noise of my youth,
Sounds of Rock and Roll, my latest love, friends, echo in the background.
I continue in my Teen World of excitement and wonder. The voice summons me,
Agitated, embarrased, and annoyed, I accept the beckoning call.
I return to her watchfulness.
She calls to me, from miles away.
Distance softens the summoning of the voice.
I continue in my Mother world of nurturing
Her need to be watchful shifts to her Grandchildren.
The voice of loneliness calls to me,
She misses us so, always caring, wondering,
Expectation of Sunday morning talks, I accept the beckoning call.
The boys are fine, Mother.
She passes to me the gift of watchfulness, I accept.
She calls to me now, In quite solitude,
The melody of her voice, is but a memory in the harmony of my soul,
Translated into the essence of Maternal love.
She speaks to me in the twilight, After the moon has gone to sleep.
She softly summons me to listen,
Longingly, full of melancholia, I accept the beckoning call.
I return to her watchfulness, listening, learning.
I AM the daughter of My Mother

© 1995 Deborah Nuckles All Rights Reserved