#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
My sister texted me and my brothers and sister before I walked. I woke later than usual, having been out late, and having been awake many middle of the night hours because Suzi was restless and woke me. So, it was a slow start to this April 24, 2018. Joanna texted how sad she was feeling. My mother died ten years ago today. Astonishing. A decade of her absence.
In honor of my mother today, here is a poem I wrote some years ago about mothers and daughters.
Your daughter is a dream in winter, alive
and unborn, rooted in your imagination,
a mystery you will never solve.
She will drink from streams of memory fed
by mothers she will know and not meet. Dreams
of your mother – her mother – her mother will rush
into the sluice and be the juice and spoil of her – her
nutrients and waste. If she is born it will be
in April. You will be more and less than a mother –
you will be a creator. You will nourish beauty
and neglect it. You will heal and do harm. You will
give all you have and never enough. You will be
an artist, a perfectionist, a failure. You will be
a tree of dreams dying in winter. She will be
a tree dreaming a daughter rooted in her imagination.
You will be a stream of memory feeding her dreams
and daughters, born and unborn. Everything you wish
her to remember and forget will rush into the sluice
and be the blood and breath of her – her nutrients
and waste. If she is born it will be
©Kelly DuMar, 2015, Published in Gravel
All photos and text ©Kelly DuMar 2018