Some friends posted this poem on their blog a couple of years ago, and it has stayed with me. I think of it every year as I try to come up with something meaningful to give my mom for Mother's Day. For sure, she has received her share of "lanyards" over the years...from this daughter, anyways.

I am grateful for my mom. Over the years, with each season of my life, she has played a special part. My small taste of motherhood makes me appreciate her even more.

I am grateful for my mom. Over the years, with each season of my life, she has played a special part. My small taste of motherhood makes me appreciate her even more.
The Lanyard
by Billy Collins
The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.
No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.
I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.
She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light
and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.
Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth
that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.
4 comments:
I can't remember if I ever received a lanyard, but I do recall several hand-made gifts over the years. I faintly see a hand-made token hanging from a ribbon that I wore one Mother's Day.
Thank you for your kind words and Happy Mother's Day to you, too!
Love,
Mom
You look a lot like your mom. Nice poem!
Thank you for sharing this poem.
I just thought I'd say hi, and let you know I dropped in to catch up on the happenings of the Cundick family. As always, I loved reading your posts and seeing what you and your cute little bunch are up to. Even 10 years after the mish you are a great example and inspiration to me.
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