I.
Yesterday, I drove my daughter out west on Choctaw Road
just to show her the country mile I came from.
I wanted her to see the sunset that has sustained me -
the scissortails on the telephone wires,
the ponds her Papa wrestled from the red dirt,
the back porch where her Grannie churned ice cream.
I wanted her to see the little blue house
where my Mama loved my Daddy
and they both loved me.
But I barely recognized the ruined
orchard, crowded out by a double wide,
the prize winning pear tree, gaunt as a graveyard gothic,
or the cottonwood where all us cousins had carved our initials -
now, lightning split and leaning,
with our scratches burned away.
II.
I didn't know what to say to my little girl
to bridge the awful before and after.
What could I do but try to pick
a flower from the wild, weedy overgrowth of my history,
talk it real to her as it is to me?
What could I do but reach
back as far as I could reach to where the old stories sleep
unrusted and shiny as a night's first firefly?
What could I do but try
to trap one in a Mason jar and spill it
into the tender cup of her hands?
A very rough draft for Fireblossom Friday.
Friday, November 11, 2016
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About Me
- Maude Lynn
- Anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information about life to last him the rest of his days. ---Flannery O'Connor
11 comments:
My goodness, MZ. This is beautiful ... particularly toward the end.
This is an exceptional piece, with the nostalgia decomposed and recomposed.. very touching and authentic.
There is so much loss and letting go in this life (and this poem) and now it seems, so much fear of what we actually may be passing on--I hope whatever poison and death it contains also has fireflies and wildflowers...surely it must.
Oh my goodness, MZ, one of your very finest. I felt it right to my toes, and I wanted to hear all those stories, of that kinder, gentler time.
One of my favourites for sure. Awesome write
Much love...
It only seems possible to convey such things to a degree and the rest is yours alone. Another reason life is so bittersweet.
so vivid, MZ, and sad ~
It is tough to go home and find home no longer has the bones it once had. Even if it had been pristine it would be your words, stories, and heart that would have given it meaning for your daughter.
you can never go home. write about it:) thanks
That is really quite lovely and, in my present frame of mind, tearful.
Beautiful and tragic. I loved this.
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