The Morning Bed: A Poem, an Ode to My Mother

The Morning Bed

My mother sat upon her bed,
Staring out at the unbroken dawn,
Pondering the many corners turned in her life,
Choices made, decisions made for her,
From happiness to sorrow, sorrow to silence—
Each turn carved into the quiet of dawn.

She felt in that moment, forlorn.

My mother took a deep breath,
As the first tint of gold arose into the dawn,
She realized that darkness does not forever endure.

She looked again outside to the dawn,
And saw that the light had blossomed it into day,
Bringing into view more to see,
More to understand,
And more to comprehend.

My mother arose from her bed,
Turning around to see everything in the fresh light.
She looked down to view her bed,
Then with thought and purpose,
She reached down and smoothed out the wrinkles,
A lifetime of wrinkles, a lifetime of loose threads,
Brushed away the lint and dust,
Which she herself had shed.

In the day, in the light,
My mother knew that some wrinkles can be smoothed away,
And that each new day brings to an end every dark and restless night.

The Morning Bed - By M. W. Van Dyke
(c) 2023 - All right reserved.

This poem was inspired by a quiet but powerful moment: watching my mother, a woman of endless positivity, face the weight of her own mortality. In the simple act of smoothing her sheets, she reclaimed a small sense of control, a quiet defiance against the uncertainty ahead. It was a moment of reflection, of acceptance, and of resilience — the kind that lingers long after morning comes.