Poems From The Kitchen Table

A big white rose isn’t enough.
A poem written with love isn’t enough.
A money transfer—
That’s more than enough.

On Mother’s Day,
A rose carries many meanings;
Its color determines its intention.

I used to give roses to my mother.
If only she knew what the flowers meant.
One rose symbolizes love at first sight.

I will always love my mother.
A big white rose—
A gift of purity, clarity, and transparent intent.
That’s what good daughters do.

Its large, elegant head
Dangling on such a long stem—
It reminded me how exhausting it is,
Always trying to forgive.

Tired and lonely,
I watched the rose bloom,
Petal by petal—
Unfolding pain,
Resentment,
Suffering.

Its sweet scent brought back the powerful aroma of your hugs.
I miss when your hugs were sincere—
When I could feel the emotion,
Like a rose swayed gently by the wind.

My rose meant something,
If only you knew what the roses meant.

Like the sharp thorns on roses,
You injure easily.
The spines protect you—
It is in your nature.

And yet,
Here I am,
Sitting at the kitchen table
On a hot Mother’s Day,
Writing a poem—
A lonely poem—
About the rose
You will not receive.

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I wrote this poem in 2021 during a creative writing class at Stanford University. It was Mother’s Day, and I was pregnant with my son Henry. My husband was away celebrating with his own mother, and I found myself alone at the kitchen table, sitting with a heavy heart. A few days earlier, I had called my mother to make sure she would be home to receive the flowers I was sending her as a surprise—but instead, she asked me for more money.

That morning, as I stared out the kitchen window at the roses blooming in our backyard, one in particular caught my eye—tired, heavy, and still beautiful. That rose became a mirror of how I felt, and the seed of this poem began to take shape.