Thursday, July 30, 2009


I see her in their faces
though lacking lines from years still to come
framed in heavy hair
not as white or wispy soft
Mother's movements look so familiar
the way she softly taps the table with her hands
just as she had done
just like Miriam

As they retell her stories re-retold,
passing them from mouth to mouth, reverently
as one should handle one of her precious quilts
I see her in them

The stories form bit by bit
pulled from each memory
sometimes interjection
on the particular wording
she may have used
even so,
the morbidity
of Big Clause and Little Clause
or the shocking lack of mentality
of dear lil' Epaminondas
is clearly communicated

there's laughter at the accuracy
then tears at her memory

I cannot yet recite her words as they
and my youthfulness does not reveal much resemblance
but I see her
in that ancient skirt
its unusual style for these times
but my favorite to wear

I see her
in my desire and attempt
to sew patches of random old projects
into something to keep someone
warm and comfortable
much time is spent
and every stitch says "I love you"
I'm beginning to understand her

She called me "friend"
and I become my own
as I begin to see her in me


Paul Epperson said...

I really enjoy this poem, especially since I've been lucky enough to understand at least a little about her and what she means to you. Another winning poem from a winning poet. Congrats.

Suzie said...

A tender, gentle poem. Just beautiful, Dianey!

Steve said...

Wow, excellent poem. Thanks for the fitting tribute. I have a witness that the dead know something of what we say/write about them. Well done.