A Mother's Day poem by the Velveteen Rabbi.

This thin gruel is your first step
toward strawberries warm from the sun
wedges of cheddar made from grassy milk
Macs and Cortlands pressed into cider
but once this spoon passes your lips
I have to curb mine from proclaiming
I made every ounce of exuberant you,
your chubby thighs and chipmunk cheeks
hesitation stills my hand, but
you don't know what bittersweet means
what blessing should I make
over this first bite, your open mouth
a door to the wide world waiting
to be brought inside?

Happy Mother's Day to all moms--past, present and future.