she had muscle

she had muscle,
my mother. she used to flex her
arm
and we'd feel
the bulge in her bicep.

she was rosie the riveter,
mother Theresa
Florence nightingale
and at times jayne Mansfield
all wrapped up
into one.

seven kids will make confusion.
but she had
muscle.

from cleaning. hanging clothes
on the line,
dishes,
diapers,
cooking.

she was tough and weak.
she could cry at the drop of a hat.
or laugh
at the littlest
thing. she couldn't tell a
joke to save her life,
but she was funny.

she was full of herself, for better
or worse, from
the depths of despair
to the joys of seeing her children,
on occasions, get life right.