poem: A Tribute in Violets

poem: A Tribute in Violets

A Chapter by Marie Anzalone
"

Hallmark doesn't make cards for my mother

"

A Tribute in Violets

And all those damn cards out there
would recognize you
only for cookies,
and hugs, and things you taught me

about kindness and warm fuzzy things.
As if.
Being a mom, the kind sanctioned
by Kincaide’s cloying paintings of goodness
defined your
boundaries in this world.
But I like to think
I can appreciate you too
as one woman to another, because-
let’s face it
none of this has been easy.
For either of us.
Like the broken winged birds
I brought home
and tended, so have we found
that daughters can be friends and mothers
can be confidantes.
That our respective worlds are as familiar
as childhood memories
and as different
as the changing face of
the shoreline where we used to go
every year;
with the sand the ponies and the
way you’d walk in the shadow of him, trying
to please.
I’m so glad you let the water
erase those tracks you left on that beach
and you struck out
and found one whose lighthouse
didn’t lead the traveler directly
into the battering rocks.

Thank you then, for being the kind of mom
who understands survival humor
and even knows
how to lob a few grenades at the
truly deserving.
You’ll never see that written in Hallmark, I assure you.
Thank God.
Because it means I have something
far better than the
lowest common denominator to call
home.
And maybe you didn’t realize it
but I’ve been watching
all these years
and taking in the you in my form;
understanding at last how I was shaped
by observing the way
they all come to you when they need healing.
Your door is always open
and the table is always set
with fresh flowers
AND
the damn floors are always clean
How the hell do you do it?
That’s one gene I fear I did not inherit.
Thank you for being the kind of woman I am proud
this Christmas
to say is my mom, the one who maybe
not so much as mothered me
as, in her wisdom,
simply understood me
and let me be who I needed to be.
Not holding my numerable mistakes against me
but rather, cultivating as well as you could,
what you found was best
in this wild meadow of a child
when you probably just wanted
a few carefully planted and tended violets

[Just let's hope not Kincaide's style]



© 2012 Marie Anzalone


Author's Note

Marie Anzalone
for my mom for Christmas this year... because I can't find a card I actually like.
Her Christmas song is "Old City Bar" by Trans-Siberian Orchestra, because she would be there making the ones in a bar feel like it really was a home if they had to be there for Christmas.

Violets are her favorite flower.

My Review

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Featured Review

Marie,
It seems like I was around your age when I saw my Mom in a different light. All of the hopes, lessons she wished for me I deflected for years. Then one day I let them rain down on me. This is absolutely beautiful write for her. Your relationship has come into a new light and that in and of itself is a miracle.

Be sure to have some tissue handy, she will surely need them.
Merry Christmas to you and your Mum...

Posted 14 Years Ago


6 of 6 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

My Mother loves Trans-Siberian Orchestra! Your mother sounds like my mother in many ways. This is a heart-felt, gut-warming tribute to mothers from daughters; for I'm sure we'd all like to be able to say what we really feel, what we've observed and how much we love them. Thank you for sharing your inspiring words.

Posted 14 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

beautiful stuff marie. couldn't be better if you stuck a syringe in your heart and suctioned it out! hey - i just turned "you suck" into a compliment! gonna send this review to hallmark!

Posted 14 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

this is so emotional my friend..i read it few hours ago..
i lost a mother few weeks ago ,so it was hard to read this
especially with all the emotions in it..and family ties around us here are very strong
yes thank you for being a great mother..and i thank God i was a good son
i stood by your bed day and night ,nursing and taking great care of you till you said goodbye to this life
i always could not imagine life without you,you had warmth and kindness i ve never seen before
yes the damn floors were always so clean,always surprised how you could do it
Now the year is turning over..its another year ..But its without you..you could never know how hard
How hard to look at your bed at the steps you used to step,i look at them but could never see you again
this life will never be the same again without you,i just hope God helps us till we forget
and i stop imagining you everywhere around me ,everywhere i look..


Posted 14 Years Ago


1 of 2 people found this review constructive.

wow. as a parent i can't begin to tell you what receiving a poem like this would mean. parenthood, for those who care, is a perilous journey with no maps. it's taken on instinct and faith and gut feelings. and all the while you're praying that you aren't screwing your kid up too badly. i can also tell you the pride we have in a child who grows up to be a decent, wonderful human being. i am fortunate to have a daughter who i would be proud to know as a friend even if we weren't related. i am proud of her and, if i had anything to do with how she turned out, i feel i've done my job well. you are very fortunate to have had your mother as a help, example, caretaker and all the other things she's been to you. and she is equally fortunate to have a daughter who appreciates all of those things. you are both, to use an over-used and misunderstood word, "blessed", and this is the season to count those blessings. happy holidays to both you and your mother.

bob

Posted 14 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Again I'm amazed at you ability to make those you write about so real to those who read. Like mirrors, your writing always reflects back to me the feelings of my own heart; and now I hope to one day write my own mother a card such as this.

A card well worth receiving...


(p.s I completely agree with you concerning Kincaide deal. Never got that myself.)

Posted 14 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Such a wonderful way to let your mother know what she has meant to you through all the years. What she still means to you. You are absolutely right...Hallmark does not make this kind of card.

This is a beautiful write, Marie. I'm sure she will love to hear these words.

Posted 14 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

A lovely gutsy tribute, capturing her energy and zest... I so agree about cards, Hallmark being the pits... Nearly all the ones from any supplier that are labelled for wife/husband/mother/father are so embarrassingly trite and sentimental it's enough to make anyone spare of human nature. But I gues they sell well... as do Mills & Boon's publications!

Posted 14 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Wow. *stands and claps*

Posted 14 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

This was the Tributes of tributes. I have definitily i can assure you, never come across one as profound and well written as this here. The whole lot of the context was deeply felt and you took us with you on part of your mothers journey. Expertly put together and such evotion and honesty put within the lines. Excellent.

Posted 14 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

this is wonderful writing..with clarity, intensity, and lots of talent!
really glad you posted it..it says more about mother/daughter relationships
than any poem I have read..very strong and honest.

Posted 14 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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Added on December 19, 2009
Last Updated on December 18, 2012

A Pilgrimage in Epistles: Poems as Letters and Observations


Author

Marie Anzalone
Marie Anzalone

Xecaracoj, Quetzaltenango, Guatemala



About
Bilingual (English and Spanish) poet, essayist, novelist, grant writer, editor, and technical writer working in Central America. "A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to ta.. more..

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