My Story Poem by Sandra Martyres

I walked out on her twenty years ago
Although I had nowhere to go
I was young and brash
Tired of listening to unending lectures
On how I should be living,
Or how much attention I should be giving
On whom and when I should spend my money
Enough was enough – that’s what I said
The day I decided to break away

I traveled for miles and miles
To find a suitable lodging
After a harrowing search I ended up in a dingy flat
Dimly lit and smelling musty
Reluctantly I laid down my bag
And fell asleep on the creaky bed
From that day on there was no turning back
I did not return Mother’s calls
I let the mobile ring and clock
Hundreds of missed calls
She seemed never to give up
But I did, I changed the number

That was twenty years ago
Much water has since flowed down the river
I look back with a cold shiver
Now Mother is dead and gone
I return home to manage her estate
Her Lawyer summoned me via an advertisement
Placed in a local newspaper
The house is the same - almost the way I left it
Of course it cries out for repairs
The once highly polished stairs
Now look old, dull and worn
I can almost, on Mother’s face see scorn
For her everything had to be just perfect
She would not have it any other way

Mother's desk in dark mahogany well crafted
Where she her literary works had drafted
Books about which I often dreamed
Maybe Mother was not as bad as she seemed
That thought crossed my mind
As I opened the desk from behind
Like a tornado a flood of envelopes fell out
Each one bearing my name
Written in her meticulous hand
I selected what appeared to be the latest one
An envelope that was whiter than the rest…
The note inside read – “My son it is a pity
That you will see this when I am gone
I just want to say that
What ever I did or did not do
Was only meant to protect you
You father disappeared leaving us penniless –
But I let you believe that he was dead
To tell you the truth I was scared
Trust you will now forgive me
And let my soul rest in peace
To you I bequeath my life's savings
A million pounds in stocks
Plus the royalties on my books
My penname is Helen Oaks –
And my Book Different Strokes
Won a literary award
Despite the accolades and felicitations
For me there was no real celebration
As always I was alone
Your Mother'