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My Mother's Hometown
Folder:
Memoir Challenge
My Mother
Had a hometown
She often spoke about,
Cable cars and inclined trains
And floods along the river,
A dog is the park,
An airport you fly up to,
And Presbyterian churches and well to do houses,
A fear of abandonment,
If doctrines weren’t followed.
They will throw us out.
Well be living on the street,
If you don’t behave, now
Don’t speak at the table,
Until you are asked.
A four year old child
Sitting crossed ankled
and sullen.
Grandpa would ask,
Once,
How was your day,
Speak clearly and quickly,
Don’t ask to get down.
The town was hard working
With a steel mill and such,
All down below the hills
At the end of the mountain.
She tried to fit in, this premature child,
Born full term, a month early,
So her mother said.
Her father a dandy from an immigrant crowd,
Not part of her life never fully around.
She left as soon as she properly could.
Married a dentist army bound.
Get out, get away,
From the shame and failings,
To find 100 years later
The shame was closely shared.
The grandfather who kept order
Of a household with 6 children
Was doing his best to
Hide a secret of his own.
Born without a father in the late 19th century
And unwed mother
No one spoke about.
My Mother had a hometown.
