Grandma died end of August ~ Summer of Love
Cigarette lighter & pack of Silva Thins in hand ~ Mom began her nightly
promenade ~ up and down, back and forth, the dark driveway
Dad didn’t have much to say . . . he missed Loretta too
Mom’s orange tipped glow floated in the dark north and south
a middle-aged woman, sporting a mini-skirt & white patent leather go-go boots a bottled blonde bouffant helmet carrying on her goose step grieving march
inner tears flooding the tough one ~ drowning her last hurrah!
My Sicilian Grandmother would ask Dad,
“Jim-mee, what’da she feed-da you . . . any pasta fazool?”
Dad would grin trying to lighten the fact he married an Irish-German virgin
a much better angel food cake baker than an Italiano Contessa in la cucina
Mother, MaMa, Ma, Mom, she was always there,
the light, the effervescent laughter of our home,
the Fearless Protector, no matter what
Our Home our hearth a blaze,
a place where we gather to Be,
a place to let our hair down, brought a blanket when chilled
simply loved for who are are
Mom was the light, the bed maker, the menu planner, the grocery shopper,
the chauffeur, the tutor, the candle of constant belief,
She was out spoken, strict, a kick ass, straight shootin’ gal,
Never bothered with elitists, yet knew how to be with the best of ’em,
She was a deep lover, a fighter, the one who always had your back,
She’d face off the bully, the punk, extend her Scorpio claws to protect &
shelter all the kids in the neighborhood,
She was a broad to reckon with!
Home was Mom
