My Mother’s Garden
Don’t think I’m telling these stories
because they stand out as special.
Each is one stinking weed in the evil
bouquet of my childhood, and part
of the stink comes from growing up
to raise kids of my own. Watching them
bloom, I learned that childhood could
and should be an anthology
(anthos: flower and logia: gather)
of beautiful colors and redolence.
Mom, you were always kind
to animals and had a green thumb.
I’ll give you that, but I remember
when I felt parched deep in my roots
and you didn’t bring me any water.
7 thoughts on "My Mother’s Garden"
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I have never once considered the etymology of the word anthology, but I’m glad to know that now.
Wicked poem, though, with a soft center, which is in its own way reflective of being a child. Good to learn and do right by your own children.
I always enjoy the when you speak directly to the reader, as you do here at the beginning. Creates a confiding and intimate relationship with us.
Scathing, beautiful, and real.
There is redemption in My Mother’s Garden, and I love how you bookended the beautiful in 2nd stanza with the heavy.
Thank you for sharing the etymology of anthology- a precious reference to childhood.
I love how you start of by telling the reader “Don’t think I’m telling these stories/because they stand out as special.” It leads us on, positions the narrative voice, and leads to a stunning piece very effectively!
First stanza — downplaying importance of story
Second — abstract analysis
Third — the reality
A winning outline for a stunning, yet tender, poem.
Like this so much—it always intrigues me when someone good at several things is bad at what is more important. Oh and thanks for etymology lesson!