mother poem #11
for a long time I’ve considered
myself “young-old” pretty soon
I better start thinking “old-old”
if I knew then about old what I
now know I’d have been more
understanding more helpful to my
“old-old” mother—mom, I’d have
coaxed from you your untold stories
harkened to any fear behind your
words realized when you rubbed
your wrist it was hurting but you
weren’t complaining for you’d said
long ago you wouldn’t be a chronic
complainer like grandma; I should
have demanded a few complaints!
I’d have remembered with you many
of the things you did with and for me
for us all from childhood on so you’d
know these were appreciated the trips
to the orthodontist to music lessons
to your playing the piano-part to my
“piece” after I’d finished my many
scales even though you were weary
I’d have told you how I loved to hear
you play and sing “Sylvia” and “I Love
Life” and your own “Moon and Sea” love
songs and the comfort your constant
presence gave to my life I would have
brought out pictures and letters and
asked for details and I’d have listened
and listened and listened and listened
©2015 Jacqueline Jackson
This article appears in May 14-20, 2015.
