MY MOTHERS & I by Caroline Richardson
Between my great grandma’s white china and my mother’s crystal, a green
plate rings of past virtue and glory.
Fragments of an old tale lingers
in the hints of pure glue peeking
from the cracks of the damaged dish;
repaired by my mother’s warm hands,
in harmony with our ancestor’s
spirits, stitching hearts and hardships
into longer lasting layers.
Fashioned first by Miss Ballinger’s
memories of lost descendants;
fighting to win freedom
for our mothers at San Jacinto,
banding together,
becoming one at the Cradle,
revering lost ones,
proclaiming to pass on memories,
traditions, customs in all ways
exclusive to each family
line, from mothers to daughters.
My mother’s, mothers, mother’s
rich aroma of paragor
circles around the plate, spinning
and enriching memories
of Jacinto further, further
down our line infusing each
generation into one pattern.
Mixing and mingling
mothers daughters
daughters mothers
old and new
ways of showing reverence
for all who have perished.
As I extract the scent from glued cracks
the swirling memories and legends,
I align my imaginative mine with my
mothers, mothers, mothers passing on
as Daughters of the Republic of Texas.
//ww
plate rings of past virtue and glory.
Fragments of an old tale lingers
in the hints of pure glue peeking
from the cracks of the damaged dish;
repaired by my mother’s warm hands,
in harmony with our ancestor’s
spirits, stitching hearts and hardships
into longer lasting layers.
Fashioned first by Miss Ballinger’s
memories of lost descendants;
fighting to win freedom
for our mothers at San Jacinto,
banding together,
becoming one at the Cradle,
revering lost ones,
proclaiming to pass on memories,
traditions, customs in all ways
exclusive to each family
line, from mothers to daughters.
My mother’s, mothers, mother’s
rich aroma of paragor
circles around the plate, spinning
and enriching memories
of Jacinto further, further
down our line infusing each
generation into one pattern.
Mixing and mingling
mothers daughters
daughters mothers
old and new
ways of showing reverence
for all who have perished.
As I extract the scent from glued cracks
the swirling memories and legends,
I align my imaginative mine with my
mothers, mothers, mothers passing on
as Daughters of the Republic of Texas.
//ww