They studied together so it was natural that they became friends,
the football player who needed an algebra tutor,
the valedictorian who lived a mere two blocks away.
Later, as Jazz musicians in the same band,
when taking their breaks,
the tenor sax man always made his way toward the piano player.
He, a tall blonde with blue eyes,
and she “5’2”, Eyes of Blue”, he’d sing that song against her hair of raven black.
I have a picture of that.
They were given three girls.
It was Dad’s best friend, the doc,
who came into the waiting room after #3,
shaking his head, “Sorry, Jess, it’s another girl.” That was me.
“I love little girls,” he laughed and winked at his brothers with their sons.
They never once told me they didn’t want me.
Never once told me I was wrong.
I was made to feel most wanted, apple of my father's eye.
There is only faith and love and laughter to remember.
Dad busied himself frantically making sure his family wouldn’t lack for care.
I don’t know how he guessed.
Was it a premonition or some goal he set?
Managing farmland, owning gasoline station, managing counties of
insurance business, dabbling in stock market,
buying real estate,
he worked like a mad man who knew his own fate was bearing down
at breakneck speed.
As if he guessed such a loving Ozzie and Harriet home could never last.
As if Satan himself were jealous of all we had.
To us it came as a heartbreaking, life shattering surprise
That he was gone at only forty-five.
Noble, brave widow, and mother of his three,
Mama finished raising us alone. It must have felt so awfully alone.
She became both mother and father, and always gentle and fair.
Even with the troublesome last one, me.
Teaching music and playing organ at church, she was loved by the community
As much as by us.
She was asked to go on dates, but couldn’t go out with others.
“I tried,” she told me when I asked her why, “but no one could compare
to Jesse. It wouldn’t be fair.”
During World War II he had written long love letters that much later were shared with me. Not with #1 or #2, just with me, little number three...
Yellowed paper, carefully hidden away, and tied together in special box.
All began teasingly, “My Sweet little Sparrow”… “My Dear little Squaw”,
After we’d read them tears slid silently down her cheeks.
You could see the memories in her eyes.
“When I’m gone, they’re not meant for anyone else to see.”
So she burned them all.
“Keep your memories in your heart.”
She sighed at me as she watched pieces of her letters
float away into the night.
A pile of ashes, all that was left,
I took to his grave to bury beside him,
between where they will lie side by side,
The wind had no right to blow such loving words away.
At ninety-four she still waits.
Very pious, very patient, still bright and kind
Those blue eyes get misty when she plays
songs that were theirs.
“I’m ready for death,” she smiles wistfully.
“I know where I’m going, I know who’ll be there, and I have no regrets.”
I don’t know how she can be so very sure,
But I find solace in her strength and in her smile.
It’s troublesome #3 that will have trouble letting go,
Not a moment will Mama hesitate, not a sigh of death will she not embrace.
There’s a description in the Bible of what a woman should be:
a picture of my mother in words.
There are passages in the Bible of what a man should be:
a picture of my father in words.
How refreshingly touching #3! I really like this, You wrote it in block paragraphs, which I love as it's neat and compliments your work... some of your dialogue indents are too far in, just type as normal and when you add the quotation marks it will indent automatically.
2nd & last paragraphs need to be squared off.....
What a woman, your mum, ninety four not out, good for her. I can identify even though it hasn't been a year...There will never be anyone else for me, some people are simply irreplaceable.
What a heart-felt story about a loving family xx
Cheers,
Helen.
Your tribute to your parents is well done, providing a history of how your parents, and you, came to be in a way that is warm and loving. I was unsure, a little, about the format you chose. You know so much about them and how things came to be that making it into a prose story, rather than a prose poem, might have given you more license to describe this fully. The prose poem format might have restricted you somewhat. I've written memory pieces more briefly as conventional verse and in more detail as prose vignettes. For myself I chose the broader, longer format when there was a lot I had to say, a lot of detail I wanted to share.
On the other hand, what you said was wonderful, and several paragraphs were excellent. One toward the end particularly struck me as fine.
Yellowed paper, carefully hidden away, and tied together in special box.
All began teasingly, My Sweet little Sparrow My Dear little Squaw,
After wed read them tears slid silently down her cheeks.
You could see the memories in her eyes.
When Im gone, theyre not meant for anyone else to see.
So she burned them all.
Keep your memories in your heart.
She sighed at me as she watched pieces of her letters
float away into the night.
A pile of ashes, all that was left,
I took to his grave to bury beside him,
between where they will lie side by side,
The wind had no right to blow such loving words away.
I was number 3. When I was pregnant with my number 3 the doctor who did the scan apologised to me too! I love all my girls and I was thrilled with all three.
This tribute to your parents is touching - beautiful in its simplicity.
I'm not well versed when it comes to prose. I've only read a few myself, but I really liked this. You do a great job of telling a story and smoothly transition from talking in the past to present. What I would like to see, and this is just my own opinion that you don't really have to listen to, is that if there is actually a passage in the Bible that does describe your mother/father if you could add it in.
Ex.)
There's a description in the Bible of what a woman should be,
(Insert a line or two here of what it says)
A picture of my mother in words.
And then the same for your father.
But again that is just my own opinion. It's not really needed.
This was incredible, a truly inspiring piece to both of your parents. It was a fascinating read, and just wonderful all the way around. I'm speechless. T
Someone get me a tissue! I'm not kidding.... This is a very heartwrenching piece of writing you have here. I feel for the mother having lost someone she loves so much, so early in their lives together. I'm sure they are both very proud of you.
Now for the critique:
I didn't see anything that needed changing. You captivate your readers immediately and keep them interested all the way through. I didn't see any spelling errors and grammar looked good to me. Wonderfully written piece. Now where is that tissue I asked for? LOL Thank you for sharing this with us.
I pray someday that my own children remember me in such high regard. That I might account for in them, what your father and mother means to you. I can see in this story a piece of your history that has molded you into the industrious, yet sensitive young lady. I wish that your mother hadn't burned those letters, for their value to history is priceless.
Once again Lara, I find myself praising your writing. This one even more than the others because you have shared not only thought and passions, but a real piece of who you are inside. This one goes into my favorites. I know that it will keep the other ones there with it nice and warm.
This is a beautiful story. I'd encourage you to reconsider the form to a prose poem. The form doesn't seem to befit the beauty of the lines...prose on the other hand might make this even more captivating.
This is so gentle, so tenderly, thoughtfully and respectfully written.
I don't really want to make any comment, other than you and your parents are a lesson in strength for us all.
Thank you for inviting me to read this, I feel honoured Mimi.
Kindest regards. :)
I am just so so disappointed this didn't make the contest.
Its raw, beautiful, inspiring, and so sad, but with an underlying strenght throughout.
I feel blessed having read it, such a love rarely exists, and from your birth to today you have paid such a wonderful tribute to a couple who to me, represent everything love should be.
There are so so many lines here that make you want to cry.............this is a fave for me, and I thank you dearly for sharing it...............your mother and father sound simply wonderful, and your mother who waits unafraid, is simply magical.
Born in the swamps of the South Carolina Low Country. Brought up on the Classics with a great deal of emphasis on music. I spent about six years at the University of South Carolina in Columbia soakin.. more..