When Mother was a young girl,
what would she have felt
to be shown how her life would turn out—
her husband and sons,
and how things went with the family,
later a grandchild dead at 13,
four surviving to bring in
still another generation?
When she was on the beach, say,
in Atlantic City in that picture from the'30s,
skin fair and fresh as apple flesh,
looking into the camera
like a comet at a sky
it's about to cross?
Could she have seen
the crone she is at 85,
Or leaving her beloved east coast
for a life in the midwest?
I don't think so. Nor
the dignity life has conferred upon her
through hard choices
and tears.
I think it's best that we don't know how things will turn out and just go along with the flow. Sincerely Ernestine
Nice poem, Max. I enjoyed reading it - brought back tender thoughts of my own mother. Warmest regards, CJ
glad to hear it... and read it... I love the comet image.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I enjoyed the poem, the crone line made me laugh; we all have to live out the beauty and keep becoming.