A Homespun Memory

     Years ago, I wrote a poem that my mama liked very much.  'Course, bein' the recipient of pure love an' parent-pride, I never questioned whether she liked it for the poem or because I was her offspring.  To me, the fact that she liked this particular poem touched a special chord in my heart.  When mama passed away, I wanted to do somethin' to honor her.  Finally, when it was time to buy a headstone, I felt that the best way I could honor her was to give somethin' of myself that she loved.  The Poem.

     Years later, I tentatively entered my poem in a contest that was open to all countries, certain that I would finally learn that Mama's appreciation was founded in her love for her child.  To my great surprise, I won Honorable Mention.  I dunno' if anything has ever surprised or pleased me more than that award because I finally felt that I truly had given my mama somethin' worthwhile.  Naturally, she an' I shared a special moment that day.  Whilst I visited her grave, I cried tears of loneliness that she was gone an' tears of joy that I had given a part of myself that she loved.

     In case you have difficulty reading the words on the headstone, here is a copy of the poem:

Homespun

Homespun; fireplace; the smell of pitchy pine chips;

Burning; smouldering; dying.

The milk cow; milk; cream; butter;

Salted; churning, slowly churning.

Voices; Mama; Daddy; neighbors;

Children laughing, running, playing games.

Fields; plowed; planted; watered;

Yielding food for folks and critters,

To start again; Homespun.

                        By: Just Joany 1979



     Thank you for sharing this memory with me.  Until the next time, keep a hug on.

 ~ Yaya