Of No Bones but Her Own

When I was a child
And you were a child,
A book was shared
With epics compiled.
I’ve declared my acceptance
Yet, all the while,
My fervid mind from adolescence
Has since grown beguiled.
In the bindings it bore
A depiction of light.
From the radiance, it swore,
The dawn of primordial life.
Fawns of an age 
Illuminated in night.
Words on a page
Admired His might.
By God, the bygones were wrong,
They had not yet learnt to see.
Shrouded darkness before you,
Lustrous cascades upon me.
For Mother of mine,
Ethereal and discreet,
The prosaic Earth that bore you
Was simply incomplete.
Colossal steppes and meager isles,
Vast mountains and quaking water,
Coalesced with utopian Heaven,
Inhaling the breath of its celestial Daughter.
The world shared a silence,
Not a syllable muttered.
Wished February, "adieu",
And welcomed my Mother.
Pontius rolled over
With the news of this seraph,
That was carried down in processions
Of chariots and Cherubs.
The whole world converged,
Surrounded “Great Bob” and “Pure Agnes”.
And the name, “Hedy Kathleen”
Was the best they could give us!?
Well, they liked it just fine
And I’d say I do, too.
A rose by any name
Would implore your perfume.
I cherish my fortune,
Yet, left hopelessly bemused.
How could this quasi-poet
Deserve a Mother like you?
An exuberant equestrian
Traversing the expanse.
Enchantress of pallid canvas;
De Stijl and Monet envy askance.
Come hell or high water;
Hedy never alters her stance!
A sovereign in all she is set to,
All she needs is a chance!
Well, hey, you got one.
Perhaps not the form you’d expect.
Compared to Jamie’s intellect
And Riley’s infectious zest.
Jill’s will to live,
Millie’s attempt to “protect”.
Dad’s charming visage,
(No, I didn’t lose a bet).
But, there’s never been confusion;
You exhibit benevolence to all.
We’ve never felt seclusion; 
You answer (almost) every call.
If our wardrobe nears desperation;
You have a planned trip to the mall.
When you hear ululation;
I hear running down the hall.
You help articulate solutions
Whenever misfortune befalls.
You’re quick with a locution,
Like, “Abbler-Dabbler”, when I was small.
There’s always an “operation”,
It’s swift and quick with gestural sprawl.
You love devised obtrusion,
An “innocent” faux pas.
Millie pelage accrue in profusion,
Adorn furnishings and the walls.
You’re present on location,
For every pitch and each fall.
Foreign to ostentation,
Absent to carousals.
Hedy’s unique pronunciation,
Here, I cheat with just, “Ma”.
I could seamlessly go forever.
Still, there would be volumes left to say.
I apologize to Heaven and Elysium,
To Jesus and Frey.
But, they can’t have their Queen now.
I wish they never may.
Mom, always know Bubby loves you,
And have a blessed birthday.
-Chance Nelson
This poem is about: 
My family



A poem for my mom. Some background that will help:

Jamie: sister

Riley: sister

Jill: beloved dead horse

Millie: spoiled, hairy dog

Bubby: she calls me, Bubby

Abbler Dabbler: i made strange noises as a baby, this name was produced

Bob: Her Father

Agnes: Her Mother

"operation": She always exclaims, "operation... etc." like clean the house or make dinner. When she says this she throws up her hand with her pointer erected like she just had an epiphany. Also, she always says, "i must now (random chore or activity) swiftly and quickly, without delay!" These are by far her two favorite expressions.

the obtrusion and faux pas: Growing up, she never failed to periodically flick on the lights or barge in if we had company of the opposite gender over. She always tried to cover it up by asking a rhetorical question or mentioning dinner would be ready soon.

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