Monday, March 9, 2009
... like a dreamwalker
I've been thinking about my mom this morming. I miss the sunday talks, about what I had coming up in the week, among other things. My mother was quite reserved, not at all like me, (I take after my dad) and pretty serious; but she was a magical pre-school teacher, And when she worked for CPS she was fearless in defense of children. She thought I was a bit "high strung," but she believed in me unwaveringly. I miss you mom.
Lucille Clifton poetry today, I think.
my mamma moved among the days
like a dreamwalker in the field;
seemed like what she touched was hers
seemed like what touched her couldn't hold,
she got us almost through the high grass
then seemed like she turned around and ran
right back in
right back on in
Lucille Clifton, good woman:poems and a memoir 1969-1980