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 1979Thank you for sharing this memory with me. Until the next time, keep a hug on.
~ Yaya
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