My mom died twenty-two years ago this month. She has been much on my mind these past few weeks.
squeezing a penny
my mother never knew the names for things
the trees were just trees, the flowers just flowers,
but she knew life as a sigh and love as a linchpin
and how to get to work and maneuver in the dark,
she could squeeze a penny and was known to force
tired feet into worn shoes, she could make them dance
sleeping without walls
camp that year taught the art of sleeping outside
sleeping without walls, watching the stars and moon,
gathering dreams from sunsets and morning dew
we slept in bed-rolls configured of old white sheets
and army blankets made of itchy khaki-colored wool
i wondered if my uncles slept on them during the war,
as I wondered about many things, many things …
and that summer held other delights, climbing trees
and eating cherries without washing them, oh!
and there were blueberry bushes and fig trees and
i lined the path to our food hut with odd sunday stones,
my own bare prayer while the big girls were at Mass,
i marveled at my middle-aged mother’s plump knees
and marked her spirit for wearing shorts and for her
joining in children’s games and singing ‘round the fire
now i wonder at summer camp morphing into metaphor ~
all our lives we did those things: gathering dreams,
mom and me, outsider artists sleeping without walls
in the shadow of the moon
like lucid dreaming, like light-infused rain drops and
the untarnished silver stars above country terrain,
my mother calls to me from the shadow of the moon
my father beams his smile at me from the milky way
gone and gone, still their essence scents my nights
– Jamie Dedes
© 2013, poems and family photos, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved
JAMIE DEDES ~ My worldly tags are poet and writer. For nearly six years I’ve blogged at The Poet by Day,the journey in poem, formerly titled Musing by Moonlight. Through the gift of poetry (mine and that of others), I enter sacred space.
Jamie, beautiful! ‘still their essence scents my nights’
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Thank you, Paula, for your comment and unfailing support.
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More than nostalgia or reminiscence, your poems reflect your understanding of these beloved people. I like that. 🙂
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Thank you! I know you have the same appreciation for your mom, Priscilla, that I have for mine. Be well …
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Lovely Jamie: I am enjoying my sharing my parent’s essence (and Phyllis’ ) at “liminal” times or in my dreams as I wake up or am falling asleep.
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No one is ever really gone, Rob. Be well … Hope the new digs are working out.
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Beautiful to share in these special moments with you.
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Thanks for the read and comment, Niamh.
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These are indeed very beautiful…thanks for sharing such special moments in your life.
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Thank you, Charlie!
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Lovely memories, Jamie. Our mother’s are such an important part of our lives…always will be.
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Indeed they are and wishing you a good visit with your own mom now.
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ohh Jamie, this pulled up from deep within a desire to smell the earth, and only childhood brings that spurt up to my soul! Awesome writing ! Blessings friend ~ Debbie
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Thank you, Debbie, and many blessing to you.
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Wonderful …. thanks for sharing such a lovely tribute of memories!
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Thank you, John. I appreciate your comment. 🙂
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Jamie thank you for sharing such touching memories… Such intimate poetry that allows us to see all the beauty of your Mum. I’ve come back to read this a few times now…I just love it! Wonderful writing. 🙂
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I have been “deeply” uninspired now for several weeks. I am really just not writing. Which is just fine.
I admire the relationship that you had with your mother and I appreciate your expression here of the feeling that thoughts of her generate within you. You have no idea of how many times I have rewritten this sentence, trying to get it right. It was so difficult to get right as thoughts of my own mother kept interfering. Forgiveness clears the air, cleans up ones own universe but one is not inclined to forget. I always enjoy your writings of family and youthful times.
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This poem recognises the ordinary as well as he extraordinary in you relationship with your Mum, Jamie; that, alone, makes this tribute very real and grounded. I love the lines:
” …all our lives we did those things: gathering dreams,
mom and me, outsider artists sleeping without walls…”
Very special.
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Thank you, John. You insights are always valued.
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sweet, nostalgic, warm and intimate..Oh childhood memories..of innocence and games..of mothers’ unconditional love..your poem brings back the opening of Mahmoud Darwish’s poem for his mother..when she visited him in jail and the guards wouldn’t let her pass him the bread and coffee she brought, so he wrote this poem to console her..
I long for my mother’s bread
My mother’s coffee
Her touch
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Thank you for your sweet comment, Imen. Funny, I was just thinking of writing about Mahmoud on my poety blog …
Childhood memories grow up in me
Day after day
I must be worth my life
At the hour of my death
Worth the tears of my mother.
And if I come back one day
Take me as a veil to your eyelashes
Cover my bones with the grass
Blessed by your footsteps
Bind us together
With a lock of your hair
With a thread that trails from the back of your dress
I might become immortal
Become a God
If I touch the depths of your heart.
If I come back
Use me as wood to feed your fire
As the clothesline on the roof of your house
Without your blessing
I am too weak to stand.
I am old
Give me back the star maps of childhood
So that I
Along with the swallows
Can chart the path
Back to your waiting nest.
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