When I first heard Billy Collins read his poem, The Lanyard, I was entranced. It was hilarious; it was sensual; it made me cry. It is damn good use of 331 words.

I tried in vain several times to write something this Mother’s Day that would mean more to my mother, grandmothers, and all the women and men who led to my existence, than this poem. I failed. I simply found myself left with the truth in The Lanyard. I thrust them out today.

.....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 sickroom, lifted teaspoons of medicine to my lips, set 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 . . .

You created me and taught me words and opened my mind to the richness of this world and readied me to step out into it. You held my hand when it knocked me over and set me up onto steady ground to try it all again. Through thousands of emails, phone calls and text messages, you give me a place to call home even though I live all alone and far away.

I give you this blog post.