Poem from Mom: Web

Mom just casually dropped this one on me.

Seeking shelter and a place to rest a poem unable to be written weaves in and out my thoughts. I keep thinking you better get it in print or it will find the wind and find no home with you. The sad thing is no one else in the world has it and if you don’t sprinkle it on the page it will become dust on the dirt road of time. The shiny poem pleads with you to take care of it. Shed all that tries to keep you away from it. Do it!

shimmering shiny silver silken threads

driven by the wind

webs hanging on the lifeless fence

randomly swaying to and fro

because they

like mama found no easy place

loose ends


reaching wildly frantically

finding eyes that couldn’t let go

fascinating rhythm of the earth

unnoticed until

she walked through them

webs on her face and arms

she let me imagine

what the sunlight could bring

as it came through the woods

she found time to see them

time to embrace

what she wanted to be woven

through the cloth of our lives

Mom’s Memories of Winter

I get emails from my mother, both poems, stories and the random piece that forces me to tell her there is a “retirement center” with her name on it.

“I remember my dad every winter morning and night going down into the basement and shoveling the coal into what I thought at the time looked like a black octopus monster living in our basement. The orange color of the fire burning in the bowels of houses was matched only by the morning susrise. Perhaps the fire was the eye of the monster. It was splendid and the steady heat coming upstairs through the downstairs register found the ceiling register showing the heat where to go. It drifted like swirling smoke into the upstairs bedrooms melting the snow that had squeezed through the cracks between the windows and sprinkled the top edge of our beds. Mom rolled big heavy woolen quilts grandma had made and built a wall around our heads for warmth. It was hard to crawl out into the well settled cold and get dressed for school. Our legs felt the same chill as we walked, books in hand the cement snow covered sidewalks. My dad liked winters pink cheeked children. There was no house that we passed that did not know us. We were young safe and happy. These were the days my friend I thought they would never end. Too bad.”

Poem from Mom: Cold

so cold
first fingertips
then nose and toes
arms aching
legs shivering
cold clear through
feeling winter
wishing summer
shorts t-shirts
porch chairs
raccoon shade
wishes can’t
make you warm
unless they ride
the suns rays
to winters
cold days

Poem from Mom: Ten Cents a Dance

needing someone
her blue eyes wishing
looking for love
in the empty faces
of strangers
dance hall music
promising romance
shimmering lights
dancing around the room
as the mirrored ball spins
sweeping her up again
her choice
of who will touch her
hold her tenderly
closed eyes pretending
music returning memories
as they dance
swaying to and fro
through her dream field
quieting her lonely fear
answering her call
for 10 cents a dance