Katy Gordon writes: Here are two poems in honor of Mother’s Day. The first poem offers a humorous look at the insight we gain as adults at the sacrifices our mothers made to bring us into the world and nurture us. Who has not done as the speaker of the poem here does - present our mothers with badly crafted gifts a camp counselor or teacher coaxed us into creating? (The popsicle-stick pencil jar? the inexplicable Plaster of Paris plate? My mother, being a saint, managed to look delighted every time we presented her with another non-functional pot holder we'd woven from tiny nylon strips, the kind of potholder that magnified the heat of any pan and left a singed plastic reek in its wake. I suspect she still has them tucked away somewhere). The second poem is more serious tone and looks at those lessons our mothers give us in how to behave - those unspoken lessons that are revealed through their example: “Never go to someone's house empty-handed. Whatever you do, make yours...

This poem called "Easter, Pandemic" was read in church as part of a recent service by church member Katy Gordon.  The context: During Easter 2020 - early in the pandemic when things were in full lockdown and six-foot social distancing guidelines were in place - Katy decided to make muffins and to deliver them to various friends over Easter weekend. At JoAnn Ford's house, there was a welcome surprise in the form of conversation outside and a tour of JoAnn's garden. "Easter, Pandemic" by Katy Gordon   A friend gives us a tour of her garden – we watch from six feet back. Around our feet, the chickens chirr, digging and scrubbing the ground for grubs. Easter morning.   What better sermon can there be for resurrection than a woman in her garden, last year’s gourds curing on the ground, this year’s seeds reaching towards the sun?