In Memory of Family Ties

A sort of "found" poem.

I remember that I sat

all morning in the waiting room

with Mama.

I remember the late afternoon

light shining through

as I placed my wrists to

the cold-as-heaven window pane.

 

I remember thinking I was

just like my dear Mama as

she and I sat,

facing it alone,

waiting for any news at all.

I remember thinking I would

grow up to be strong like her.

 

I have mixed feelings about

the young girl

who loved a man

she called Daddy.

She was angry when

she was four and

she was on her way to nowhere.

 

 

I am not her. I do not remember him.

I have had to learn that

he was a big man.

I have had to learn

he named me Jane

because he believed I was

his gracious gift from God.

 

I have had to learn

what he called me with affection.

He called me Cinderella.

How I got that name,

I cannot say.

Who made thee,

daughter of long ago?

 

Five years have passed between

that December 21^st

when we left,

and this, my last visit

to his grave.

There is nothing left here

for me, not really.

 

Farwell, Fern Hill.

It was a crazy idea.

 

Author's Note

Inspired by pages 422-425 of 250 Poems: A Portable Anthology (3rd ed.) by Peter Schakel and Jack Ridl