... made from scratch / a thousand loaves of bread ... fish hooks / set with worms found among her flowers ... an ironing board that never saw a closet ... my mother's hands ... on everything I touch
Your incredible spirit has your mother's fingerprints all over it. As it should be. Goodness begets more goodness. I believe your mother and my mother are now friends.
Oh, Steven, what a beautiful comment, and to heighten it's beauty, the red winged blackbirds have been calling to each other for the last hour or so from three of the oldest Norway pines in my yard, getting ready to head south I suppose. I wrote a poem about my mother being a red winged blackbird a while back ... what wonderful, affirming messages ... I have no doubt my mother and yours are friends ... thank you so much for this ...
these were the things that first came to mind ... she also loved to cook, especially frying those fish in an iron skillet. Cornmeal and a little bit of flour, salt and pepper ... bluegills and sunnies ... oh my lord they were good.
Those red winged blackbirds were a real gift. It was simply wonderful. Thank you so much, Nancy.
Certainly one of the most potent poems you've posted to date. What clear, vibrant images! Working hands, revealing the real hardships and joy of life, you can't find a better image to those of us who came from this background. Beautiful, just damn beautiful................................Thank you!
You made me cry. A good cry. This is just so beautiful and, you know, I'm always drawn t hands; old hands, young hands, hands that have worked and given as good as they got. Thank you.
Dear Teresa, I remember my mother's hands also. So capable and so loving when she smooths my hair from the top of my head to my neck. A gentle motion that let me know I was dear to her. Peace.
Your incredible spirit has your mother's fingerprints all over it. As it should be. Goodness begets more goodness. I believe your mother and my mother
ReplyDeleteare now friends.
Oh, Steven, what a beautiful comment, and to heighten it's beauty, the red winged blackbirds have been calling to each other for the last hour or so from three of the oldest Norway pines in my yard, getting ready to head south I suppose. I wrote a poem about my mother being a red winged blackbird a while back ... what wonderful, affirming messages ... I have no doubt my mother and yours are friends ... thank you so much for this ...
DeleteWonderful choices to describe your mother, who had a lot in common with my own, except that we used minnows instead of worms. :)
ReplyDeleteI love that the red-winged blackbirds are visiting you before their travels.
these were the things that first came to mind ... she also loved to cook, especially frying those fish in an iron skillet. Cornmeal and a little bit of flour, salt and pepper ... bluegills and sunnies ... oh my lord they were good.
DeleteThose red winged blackbirds were a real gift. It was simply wonderful. Thank you so much, Nancy.
Certainly one of the most potent poems you've posted to date. What clear, vibrant images! Working hands, revealing the real hardships and joy of life, you can't find a better image to those of us who came from this background. Beautiful, just damn beautiful................................Thank you!
ReplyDeleteThank you so much, Bill. Your comment means a lot to me.
DeleteYou made me cry. A good cry. This is just so beautiful and, you know, I'm always drawn t hands; old hands, young hands, hands that have worked and given as good as they got. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteThere's something about a person's hands that say so much. Thank you for your sweet response.
DeleteVery touching words, Teresa! That is so much the spirit of the old America.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Montucky. Yes, using our hands to create a life should never go by the wayside.
DeleteDear Teresa, I remember my mother's hands also. So capable and so loving when she smooths my hair from the top of my head to my neck. A gentle motion that let me know I was dear to her. Peace.
ReplyDeleteYes, I know this feeling. My own mother smoothed my hair as I lay my head on her lap ... it was so comforting. Thank you, Dee.
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