My Mother

I guess the holidays are a time of remembering family and our past. The last two posts have been about both past and family, in particular, my father and our house. In this post, I would like to remember my mother. She past away last February after suffering two strokes. From the time of these strokes, the last of which was catastrophic, my sister and I had almost two and a half years to spend with her. While unable to speak or to move her right side, she loved when I showed her pictures of when we all were younger. Sometimes I read her some of this poetry. She seemed to enjoy these readings, breaking into a broad grin when she recognized the event or the time period. So I offer this memory to you of my mother and I at a time when I was four years old and, as yet,unaware of the concept of private property.

Cosmos
Christopher Bogart

They used to dance
When I walked up the sidewalk toward them,
Or so it seemed to me.
It was my first week of school,
Kindergarten,
And each morning
When I approached this garden
With its waving frilly heads
Of maroon and pink,
And white,
They would fight in their run
To the white picket fence
That contained the boarders of their garden.

As they crowded up to the fence, they would scream,
“Pick me! Pick me!”
Maybe later,
I would reply,
Walking past them,
And temptation.
I had to make the bell,
And the singing, and the stories,
And the snacks,
And a nap,
Nestled in the big woolen blanket
Stretched out over the rough plank floor.

Their daily supplications finally wore me down,
And when I gave my mom her first bouquet
Of maroon and pink
And white,
Her face pinked with pleasure,
Measured with maroon distress
As she patiently explained
To her child of pure intentions
The purpose of
A white picket fence.