I
I remember it was you
who read aloud to me
and taught me how to see and
feel the words.
And you who sang to me
in your subtle, aching voice
about the lonely queen
and her three soft daughters.
And it was you
who showed me how
to believe in quiet fairies and
talking stars and
even Santa Claus.
I even learned to smile
from you.
I learned that brittle, lonely smile
from you.
II
And I remember you,
you smiled through everything–
the tears and anger and
the miles
of nothing
but dry, Oklahoma prairie grass.
You smiled
through leaving the soil that
you for three decades
called home.
You smiled
through leaving
your life behind
in the greyness
of the Andes.
But I remember
the sighs too and
the way
you used to whisper
mi pais querido
into the night air.
I remember Mother
I remember.
Volume 22, no. 2, 1994