When we were both younger.
Monday Morning Musings:
“Here is a thing my heart wishes the world had more of:
I heard it in the air of one night when I listened
To a mother singing softly to a child restless and angry in the darkness.”
–Carl Sandburg, from “Poems done on a Late Night Car”
“And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
From, Dylan Thomas, “Do not go gentle into that good night”
Beneath the beauty–
pink, red, yellow-petaled–
nectar flows,
pollen-dusted bees
hover, their buzz
a soothing lullaby–
the sound of if, is, was,
and will be
Enter a caption
What will be?
From my mother’s body,
I came,
my earliest memory, her
(she was beautiful)
shushing me,
telling me not to wake my sister
My sister and I played,
sang the songs of Broadway
and our lives,
nonsense words became family slang
over the dinner table—
the sound of family dinners,
and playing the dictionary game.
From my body,
my daughters came.
Sisters, they played,
sang songs of Broadway
and their lives
nonsense words became family slang
over the dinner table—
the sound of family dinners,
and playing Scattergories.
They look alike,
(but they don’t)
anyone can tell they’re sisters,
the way they talk and gesture–
we look alike
(but we don’t)
anyone can tell I’m their mother,
it’s in the blood,
our souls
from bodies, the blood of
grey and green-eyed ancestors
generations stretching far back
to first hearts beating
and blood flowing
women, men,
loving, hating,
beautiful and ugly bodies
crawling, walking–
in the cold May rain
we go to see my mom
no longer young
with body failing
and mind not as sharp
(not as it was, not as she was)
but heart beating
and blood flowing,
we make her laugh
she’s in the hospital
(first docile, now demanding)
it’s the anniversary of my dad’s death
hearts beating
and hearts not beating
once my father raged,
against the dying of the light
till he raged, no more,
body and soul both gone.
I don’t believe in ghosts
and spirits
(But I do.)
There are things in the air
we can’t see, can’t hear
the songs of stars and bees,
the humming of the moon.
Can two people share the same dream?
The woman asks in the movie—
because it happens to her and a man,
It happened to me, once long ago,
to my daughter and me
a dream forgotten now– except
“someone played a flute,”
we both say, when I mention it—
years later.
Things unexplainable,
things I hear in the air,
that I wish we had more of,
I remember singing to my babies
My mom’s cousin says,
“people remember
the songs they heard
when they were children.”
Perhaps there are things
in the air–
If we stop and listen,
the sound of stars and bees,
the humming of the moon.
Yesterday was Mother’s Day, here in the U.S. My mom has been in the hospital for the past several days. My father died on May 11, 1998. I remember going to the hospital on Mother’s Day, for what would be his last night.
My husband and I watched a Hungarian movie, On Bodies and Souls on Netflix. In it, a man and a woman share the same dream every night. (Warning: there are scenes at the beginning in a meat-packing plant, but keep watching past that.) It also features a beautiful Laura Marling song.
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 
This is such a beautiful tribute to mother’s and daughter’s, Merril. I will keep your mother and your entire family in my thoughts and prayers.
Thank you very much, Jill.
So beautifully, poignantly done, Merril. May all be well
Thank you very much, Derrick.
Anniversaries of a spouse’s death are more than hard. I hope your mother gets over this one peacefully.
Thank you, Jane. My parents were divorced, and I doubt that my mom remembers when my dad died–but my sisters and I were a bit freaked out that she went into the hospital around the time of the anniversary of his death.
I remember now you mention it. It probably won’t hit her so hard then. My dad had to have an autopsy because he died so suddenly and the death certificate came on my mum’s birthday. She died exactly ten years later.
That was an awful birthday present for your mom to get! My mom did go to the hospital the night before my dad died, but she isn’t really aware of dates anymore–and she can’t read a calendar because she has macular degeneration.
It was awful. But at least we were all there when it arrived. We even had time to get us over from France. She couldn’t organise the funeral until she got the death certificate. The first thing she said to me when we arrived (I had a three month old baby with me) was how it was like reliving when she went back home with me as a four month old baby when her father died of a heart attack. Circles again.
Oh, gosh yes. Circles seem to be a constant.
I don’t want to see the next one come around.
No. . .today, I’m hearing about one horrible thing after the other. It’s insane. AND it’s cold and raining. I actually turned the heat back on. Making soup again. 🙂
We’ve had the stove running lately too. Not today though. And husband made a soup…
I should have guessed that. 😉
🙂
I almost wept through this poem, it is so beautiful, so full of love. You and your family are in my thoughts and prayers. I can’t help but think that your mom must be so deeply satisfied with what she is leaving to the world: you, your sister, and your daughters.
Thank you so much, Marie! Such a beautiful comment–thank you!
What a beautiful journey of changing generations with similarities and differences … let alone the wide range of emotions. Best of luck to your mom, you, and your family. Be strong!
Thank you very much, Frank. I appreciate your good wishes.
Having thoughts for your mother, Merril, and hoping for a recovery. Even a long life is too short, at the end.
Regarding the lines about your father, your “no more” perfectly echoes “the dying of the light.”
Thank you very much, Ken! Yes, you are so right about life–and dying. She’s hanging in there–probably giving the nurses a hard time right now. 🙂
This is so beautiful. I love the way you trace things through the generations. You are lucky to have such a mother, and such daughters – and they are lucky to have you. All the best to you all, I hope that life is gentle with you.
Thank you very much, Sarah. I truly appreciate your very kind words.
Beautiful post, Merril. A perfect one for Mother’s Day and sharing the generations of same/different. Loved it.
All my best wishes to your mom for a prompt recovery!
Thank you very much, Dale!
Thank you for the update on your mother. When I think of her and your family, my thoughts will transmit positive energy, my hope. I have the same diagnosis as your mom’s eye disease, but there is treatment, thank God!
My caption for your flower photo: Smell me!
Thank you very much for your kind thoughts and words, Marian. (And always.) I hope you have better success with treatment for your eyes than my mom has had. The flowers are blooming here, but today’s it’s so cold, I finally gave in and turned the heat back on for a bit. It’s just 50 F–and raining!
Circles and circles. My thoughts are with your family. Hospitals are not for the faint of heart, at any age. (K)
Thank you very much, Kerfe. Yes, indeed circles of life and also running around in and through hospital circles/phone calls.
I know it only too well.
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All good wishes Merril for whatever happens. Your words are lovely and a reminder of from whence we come and what will be –
Thank you very much, Susan!
So beautifully written, Merril. So much love, heart and soul here. I will keep you and your family in my thoughts and prayers.
Thank you very much, Robin. I appreciate it. ❤
Beautiful Merril, I love the journey through the family from your mum giving birth to you and your sister to you and your daughters and those songs along the way. Love and hugs to you all.
Thank you very much, dear Damien!
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