For Sunday’s Whirligig: Wordle #29
daughter, rocking, words, wooden, needing, beneath,
halfway, slapping, glass, seams, breathing, crisp
The Sunday Whirl: Wordle #221
weapons, energy, food, pick, transform, walk,
breathe, view, deep, practice, path, run
Poets United: Poetry Pantry #274
I am my mother’s daughter. Never thought I’d
say that. Her example has given me needed energy
to breathe life into this path through old age. Albeit,
I walk it and don’t run. She did the same.
Over halfway through life, she altered that wooden
role of housewife, chose to practice the one of artist.
Although her weapons were colors, mine are words,
we managed to transform seams of our existence.
Self-expression was soul food we picked to nurture
our beings, permitting a crisper, deeper view through
cracked glass of present moments, ultimately leading
to something beyond mere survival.
She slapped paint on canvas, while I rock words
on paper. Occasionally, have even borrowed some
of her hues, allowing us both to go on breathing
long beyond anyone else’s expectations.
Elizabeth Crawford 10/18/15
Notes: First glance at the words and the word daughter jumped up and bit me. Refused to let go. I have written several poems about my dad, very few about my mom. When I was young, our relationship was strained. Yet, as she (I?) got older, it was to me she’d turn when looking for answers to those hard questions. She didn’t start painting until her mid-sixties and eventually had two public shows of her work. She taught me the most important lesson of all: It is never too late to begin.
Image is a photo I took in my sister’s back yard.