Mother-In-Law

Becoming a mother-in-law,
to put on all at once the halo
of a Queen Mother flower-border hat,
a competitive smile and deferential
back-seat tastes in music;
learning to be a mother-in-law, with
foreground         a pot-plant,
backcloth         decorum,
framed expressions of individuality
and one doorway of unflappable greeting;
at last the mother-in-law scores
a daughter's startled appreciation
of parental tales of courtship,
and this without even once again
saying I do!
        And mothers-in-law
(their generation claiming them at last)
themselves have a few surprises coming:
the fine mien of the father of the bride,
a renewed interest in tableware
and tolerance, even welcome
for the new nickname on the old daughter –
the name she'll answer to and go by
and grow into or grow out of love with
and live wearing:
                while the mother-in-law
brings in her arms at each visit
wrapped like a sweet-smelling garment
not unparceled lightly
what a daughter's children may find
one day, and screw up their eyes
to follow its incredible stitching:
a hand-worked childhood, played in
and washed and ironed and folded
between them.