I'm going to visit with Ice Queen this afternoon, to make candy and drink a cocktail. Or two. Meanwhile, here's what kept me up last night.

Mothers Day Suite
I: 1965

I owe my life to a dinner party
a mixer, a social
arranged for young teachers and dashing airmen.
Hooking up, we call it today.

Were there other evenings that year,
with bankers, brokers, and bores?
I'm glad you chose the airman,
young-Elvis handsome with his liquid eyes
and shy smile -
the man you would follow to Africa and back,
the man who would make you my mother.

"Please pass the salt,"
his first words to you,
but the rest is history
the rest is my history.