jump to navigation


The way I walk
I see my mother walking
My feet secure
and firm upon the ground
The way I walk
I hear my daughter talking,
And hear my mother’s echo
in the sound.
The way she thought
I find myself now thinking,
The generations linking
In a firm continuum of mind.
The bridge of immortality
I’m walking –
The voice before me echoing behind.

Mommy. I catch my breath.
It is so unexpected.
Suddenly to hear that word.
Again. Not Mom or Mother.
Mommy. Not in the reedy, piping
Voice of yesterdayy, but a voice
Surprisingly like my own.

Everyday words stream
Between us.
Glancing at her face,
I see she doesn’t realize she’s said it.
And so I will not embarrass her.
I will merely
Enjoy it.

1 year – Mama.
4 years – I want my Momma
7 years – I need to ask my Mommy first.
12 years – My Mother is so uncool.
17 years – Naturally, Mother doesn’t understand.
21 years – Mom is so out of touch – What would you expect?
30 years – Maybe Mom will have a good idea.
35 years – I’ll call Mom and see what she thinks about it. Mom is really a lot of help.
40 years – Maybe Mom and I could do that together.
50 years – I wonder what Mom would have thought about it.
60 years – I wish once more I could talk it over with Mom.



No comments yet — be the first.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: