Saturdays my mother got up early
and cooked breakfast in the chilly cold kitchen
then with coarse wrinkled hands that ached
from labor as a cleaning lady woke me up.
I never thanked her.
I would crawl out of bed
and hear the cold wind howling
After I washed myself and had my breakfast
She would dress me in my school uniform
and help me put on a pair of white stockings.
Listening indifferently to her
Who escorted me to take the school bus at dawn
and ironed my uniform as well
What did I know, what did I know
Of love that’s so tender inside.