I haven’t had a mother in so long that I have to remind myself every Mother’s Day that so many people still do. Scanning the web early this morning, I accidentally came across a series of poems around the theme of “Where I’m From,” which is in so many ways an indirect and wonderful dedication to your mother.
I miss her calm and incredibly insightful way she looked at the world. Below my 5 minute creation she stands in her very “Leave it to Beaver” era, entertaining, giving, caring, nurturing, organizing and leading all at the same time. Below her is another “Where I’m From” poem I particularly liked – thanks Amanda, it brought a smile to my face.
WHERE I’M FROM
I am from a world where tanneries dictated lifestyle
And turn-of-the century European tastes dictated design
After leaving the tanneries, people sat on bar stools,
and drank coffee on diner stools on weekend mornings
They caught trout in the summer and darted moose in the winter
I am from a town that thinks they understand Republicans
Barber shops, dime stores, ice cream stands & hot dogs
Pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving, Ham at Easter, hanging icicles at Xmas
High school football games, smoking in parking lots & climbing trees
Fishing in man-made canoes and shoveling snow off Aunt Betty’s roof
Cigars, Van Halen, burgers, cows, county fairs & talent shows
A community buried in deprivation and alcoholism and hard work and soul
Long Sunday drives watching skaters & snowmobiles
Summer barbecues & mosquitoes that don’t give up
Waterskiing on glass, snowboarding on ice
Lawn mowers, garage sales and lemonade stands
The lingering taste of French toast & blueberries
The lingering smell of Adirondack pine needles & acorns
The lingering view of lovers kissing across the bay
The lingering touch of the puppy we couldn’t save
The lingering sound of purring motorboats that welcome the sunrise
And, of Mom’s fingers playing Moon River on a turn-of-the-century Baldwin
The lingering feeling of my body surrendering to a swinging hammock that said…..
Surrender to silence my child, for the world in turn surrenders to a silent mind.
Gone but not Forgotten
I am from hairspray
From braces and rubberbands.
I am from lightning bugs
Fluttering in the summer night sky.
I am from Belle
The cute little puppy
We rescued from the pound
And Smoky the cat
Whose death still touches my heart.
I am from Papaw’s goulash
And Momma’s pumpkin pie
From Dad’s overbearing
Protectiveness of his little girl.
I am from outrageous.
Eleven foot Christmas trees.
And joyous Thanksgiving feasts.
I am from French immigrants.
From 1692 and New Paltz, New York.
I am from Louis Bevier and Marie Le Blanc.
I am from the American dream.
From broken despair and gained hope
I am the present, past, and future,
History in the making.