Jackie

Jackie

Mommy? Grandma?
Why are you crying?
Did I do something wrong?

No, Jackie. No, Punkin'.
It's not you.
We're crying for the bygones.

We're remembering Uncle Jack.
Grandpa's trumpet 
was one of the things from home that he took along

with him into the war.
The trumpet didn't come back, and neither did he.
But you're here, so Uncle Jack will live on.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Papa

Papa

It seems like just yesterday

my little girl was in ruffles and a bonnet,

then serious-faced with that long, long hair.

Our Lizzy was the observer.

She worshipped Lewis,

kept Jack out of more than his share 

of trouble. She watched over Henry

like a mother hen.

She could beat me at checkers, fair and square.

Now I've given her away.

My little girl.

Take care of her, young man. Take good care.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

I'm going to miss this family I've invented from random photographs and scraps of my own family's history. I plan to work on giving them a more proper storyline. Or perhaps I'll just collect them into an e-book. Time will tell. It always does, it seems.

Buffy has the Poetry Friday roundup at Buffy's Blog.

Lizzy

Lizzy

Falling in love
with a race car driver
surprised me as much as it did you.

When the children come,
he has promised
to find a new,

safer line of work.
How many grandkids?
I think you can plan on two.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Henry

Henry

Dear Iva,
I couldn't be more sure.
But are you?

You'd give all that up for me?
For a life on this farm?
For a job at the school?

When I look at your face
in the photo you sent
I still can't believe it's true.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Mother

Mother

This picture haunts me.
It's as if
I sealed my fate

in a moment of silliness
prompted by the photographer.
The blind date

with the man who would be your father
was that same night.
I was blind indeed. And he didn't wait

a single minute for my good sense to return.
Almost before I realized it,
I was hitched and whisked away

to that wretched farm.
His conquest
was my doomsday.

I won't try to stop you, Iva.
Neither will I come rescue you.
It is your life to waste.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Iva

Iva

I never knew Great Uncle.
When I turn twenty and can manage
the money he left for me

I will thank him for his hard work,
his thrift, and his service in far away Russia in the Great War.
Then I'll not hesitate to leave.

A life on the farm
was Mother's "terrible mistake."
It is my dream.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Iva

Iva

Dear Henry,
Yes, that's me --
on the outside.

Inside, I'm still the girl
who could out-race and out-spell you
with one arm tied

behind my back!
Keep sending your poems about the homeplace.
They're what's keeping the true me alive.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Henry

Henry

All right, Pa.
You want me to invent a better story?
Youngest son

grows up to become
the world's first famous
ukulele musician.

Deprived of violin and trumpet
by his older brothers,
he discovers a musical passion

all his own. Deeply regrets
missing out on a life of farm work.
How's that for invention?

The truth will be:
Youngest son inherits farm,
makes agriculture his ambition.

Finds fame
in cattle and crops.
His regrets? None.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Papa and Henry

Papa and Henry

There's my gallant Henry,
high on his steed,
ready to gallop into the sunset!

                                                  Tell the truth, Pa.
                                                  We both know
                                                  from the set

                                                 of Dolly's ears
                                                 what was about to happen.
                                                 I was lucky to get

                                                 out of that alive.
                                                 When Dolly went to live at the Dobler's
                                                 I was not upset.

Henry, my boy, what's stopping us
from inventing a better story
complete with some imaginary regrets?


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016




Jama has the Poetry Friday Roundup this week at Jama's Alphabet Soup.

Henry

Henry

There I am,
Jack's shadow.
I'm surprised he let me hold his precious bat.

Do you think he's okay?
Why haven't we heard from him?
Where's he at,

anyway? Why won't they tell you?
When will this war be over?
I want my hero back.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Lizzy

Lizzy

A note to my younger self:
Don't take the world so seriously.
You don't always have to do as you're told.

Snatch off that silly bonnet
and run towards freedom.
Make your move, and make it bold.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Papa

Papa

I remember that day.
I did all my morning chores
up to my knees in mud,

came back to the house
to clean my boots up,
and there he was,

proud as punch
in my overshoes.
How could I begrudge his fun?


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Mama

Mama

We went back to Nebraska
just that once.
My brother's wealth was hard

on your Pa.
All of it --
tidy barn, grass in the yard,

and Jack in hand-me-downs
holding tight
to that car,

not wanting to leave it
for our dry and dusty
struggle of a farm.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Papa

Papa

Jack was always a joker,
using the animals
for some prank or scheme,

but Lewis loved them
deep and hard.
They were a team:

Lewis,
his Bonnie dog,
and Queenie --

the old mare
who was so patient,
so gentle with Lizzy and Henry.

Lewis has been gone nearly a year,
but whenever a car comes into the yard
they both look up hopefully.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Mama

Mama

This one takes me right back
to the day of my mama's funeral --
Lewis playing "Amazing Grace,"

sitting there in a kitchen chair
at the edge of her beloved garden.
The one place

in all this endless brown dryness
where there was color and life.
That's what her garden was -- an amazing grace.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Lizzy

Lizzy

When Lewis' first model plane
took off like a dream on the first try,
is that when you knew

he'd be a pilot someday?
How he loved to tell that story.
Now, whenever a plane goes buzzing through,

I look up and imagine him there,
beyond "the surly bonds of Earth,"
"Up, up the long delirious burning blue..."


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016
(with a hat tip to John Magee's "High Flight")



If you're new to my National Poetry Month project, you can go back to April 1, 2016 and read forward to catch the story line. Or you can go here and click on the link(s) under the pictures.

Michelle has the Poetry Friday Roundup this week at Today's Little Ditty.

Papa

Papa

Yes, indeed.
That's me.
Star of the team.

Valedictorian of my class, too.
If you work hard,
I believe you can succeed

at whatever
you aim for.
Of course, when it comes to wheat

a farmer can work his tail off
and the weather decides
what will be.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Henry and Lizzy

Henry and Lizzy


Who's that, Mama?
The one in the middle
marked with an X?

                                        He's so young
                                        and handsome!

                                        Tell us how you met!

I never knew
that once upon a time
Papa played trumpet!

                                        Did he bring you
                                        flowers? Candy?
                                        ...How could you forget?!?

Can I have it?
May I have it?
Pleeeeease, may I have it?

                                      Papa gave it to Jack
                                      when he enlisted?
                                      ...I guess that's best...

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Mama

Mama

I've got enough work
to fill three days,
but here I sit,

mooning over the photo book.
Mama, I wish you'd look up
from your prize houseplants and chat a bit.

Help me figure out how to go on --
my two big boys gone to war --
one on a ship, one in a cockpit --

my little girl suddenly a woman, and lovesick --
the youngest just trying to find his way,
figuring out where he fits in all this.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Papa

Papa

That Jack.
He pestered me
like a horsefly

on a mule.
Just had to have my picture.
Stood me beside

the car, but made sure
the mistake he made after the dance
was hidden behind.

I was madder than a hornet that night.
Reckless, ungrateful son-of-a-gun.
But I can't help myself. He makes me smile.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016