In Memory of Sybil Mae Smith Beamish

Mom

I was five, I remember, when

You used to

fall asleep

reading to me

stories I knew by heart.

And

I'd correct you

not knowing

you'd worked so hard the whole day through and

had given all you had yet

still made time to read aloud

to me.

And braiding my hair, plait after plait.

My crowning glory was your ill fate

to achieve

amidst kids' squabbles and breakfast dishes...

I did love the ribbons!

I remember the comfort of your arms when I was small;

a hug, a kiss, a smile I had to return even though I was mad.

And singing us awake so early in the morning!

How ever did you do it?

And winter-time on an iced-down slide Dad had made.

You, like a kid, exhilarated,

enjoying the ride, the cold, the starry night

and I, your company.

Funny, I don't remember any other mothers there.

Tea-towel shrouded chelsea buns

rising in the front vestibule.

Door shut tight; thermostat jacked up high...and

"Don't you go in there! I want these to rise!"

Boy, were they good!

The first soft touch of a kitten

nuzzling a bottle I held

I owe to you.

Calling long distance - remember?

"Kittens free to good homes."

and I, listening at the kitchen door

awestruck at your generosity and my good fortune.

Did you want it as badly as I?

Thank you

for making Christmas sparkle

and Santa so real.

And teaching me manners and etiquette

I didn't want to learn

but you persevered in

civilizing me.

I haven't forgotten

any of these things and more

though

you may not recall them

as I have

in my mind.

I wrote them down to show you

we're no different now than then.