THE SCENT OF LILACS
SAVED ME
I am sad for you
who never knew her.
You can bet
she was an old
lady
when we first met.
Eighteen years old in 1915
the 12th of 13
in a family where
her father
knew he had spit too many daughters
to work the farm easily.
She gave that way of life deftly
the single finger
salute and split.
Earned a teacher’s certificate
well before “standardized” became
the bastardized standard.
Taking the deal
life handed her
she hied herself off to a cow town
in the era when she should ha’ been married
with baby after baby carried.
Two thousand
miles from the farm.
Imagine if you can a single woman
amidst of mist of what she grew up in
but a stranger to strangers needing to learn
all the while
making the ranches earn.
Independently free of family,
the best her papa Rowdy could do was write,
a skill he poorly took to—
leap forward and
a lifetime later to 1954
when I emerged
through my own mother’s door;
4th of 5. Karma is not always cruel.
Came a day she
caught me,
the family fool, with my face pressed
into her white Lilac bush gathering the scent
she smelled in me something different
from themwho scrawled her walls before me.
She read them
children’s stories,
to me she gifted
poetry.
©M Durfee
5/18/16
I rarely if ever write from a prompt but this one at D’VersePoets Pub caught my eye. I seriously doubt I could have ever had a stronger
push to me being me than I got from my grandmother, a fiercely independent Canadian of Irish descent.
Your grandmother's tenacity is a dramatic role player in your tribute to her.
ReplyDeleteOh this is wonderful, imagine the way you gained an independence those day... and maybe the one who stayed at the farm where the one who's left out today. Time and change through those years are so tremendous...
ReplyDeleteMark, this is a beautiful tribute to your grandmother ~ I specially admire her independent spirit and carving a meaningful road for herself~
ReplyDeleteThank you for gifting us this share ~ (I was surprised, but really happy) to see you at D'verse) ~
Strength of this woman shone through this extraordinary piece of poetics, Mark. Glad you felt inspired to write this! Walter.
ReplyDeleteSuch a beautiful tribute :D thank you for sharing.
ReplyDeleteLovely man. I like it a lot.
ReplyDeleteWhat a strong woman, thank you for sharing her.
ReplyDeleteWomen have aLways
ReplyDeletebeen in charge..
pennies
on the
dollar
for Love
oF aLL..:)
Wonderful read.
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderful tribute, I'm glad she gave you poetry, so you could give me poetry too
ReplyDeleteMark-you always speak so fondly and respectfully of your wise and strong grandmother! xo
ReplyDeleteNever had anyone tell me to be myself. All they ever said was 'do what you're supposed to do'.
ReplyDeleteMark, if one of my grandkids ever write anything this beautiful about me, I will know i did everything right.
ReplyDeleteLove
kj
somehow i think you are the same kind of grandpa. It's wonderful to continue a legacy like that
ReplyDeleteOn behalf of Mary Catherine Stewart (nee Casey) I thank you all for your kind comments. I did make one mistake in her history though, she was 18 in 1905. She passed in 1991, 19 June a mere three weeks short of 105. I loved her in ways I have never loved another.
ReplyDelete