The Way He Pronounced the Word Mother

As firm on his lips as the schwa that followed.  

He held the "th" sound with quiet reverence intoning 

Her greatness he thought evident to all. 

He thought her a center. Felt himself fall at her feet. 

His quiet soul thinking her name. The key 

That drew him into a sacristy 

He otherwise could qualify to enter:

Her face, her pose, her force. 

His focus on her every story he relayed 

Began for him with her eyes, her hands, her gestures.

He would gently take his place beside her. The world 

Around her. His arm around the glow of her. 

Where worthiness began. And how he thought

Can a man ever measure up?