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

Mama

Mama

Got a photo postcard today
from my brother who stayed
back on the old place

north of Concordia
when the rest of us moved to Colorado.
Looks like they've got no complaints.

"Richard on Eds shoulder,
he couldn't look out. Mrs. and myself
in our oats field, it made 62 bu."

We watch the clouds build up in the west,
watch them pass by our fields,
watch them continue east to deliver their rain.

It's sure enough dry here -- nearly desert.
But there's a beauty in it, and we are learning
to lean into the wind and weather. We'll stay.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Jack

Jack

Mama gave me my own camera
for my eighteenth birthday.
She seems to believe

that I could profit from studying the world
instead of always trying to get the world
to look at me.

Your plot backfired, Mama.
The herefords are watching.
And behind the shed, so's Henry.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Henry

Henry

Dear Iva,
I didn't think Mama
would miss just one.

Guess she knows her flock
better'n I thought.
It sure was fun

to see that photographer's face.
If I hadn't started laughing,
no one would have known I done it.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016





A note to my readers: these stories and these characters are works of fiction. With very few exceptions, I have no idea who the people are in these photos. The names of many of the characters come from my ancestors and their friends. Other names are ones I chose to fit the character. The settings are real. My mom is from Denver and my dad grew up on a farm in Eastern Colorado (although some of these photos could be of ancestors/family friends further back who lived in Nebraska and Kansas). If we could sit down together for a cup of tea and a scone, I'd tell you all the little bits of truth I've woven into this fiction. I'd tell you the biggest surprises I've had, and the poems that took the most/fewest drafts. Like Amy LV commented, sometimes I feel like these people are talking through my pencil.

I did not have this all planned out before Poetry Month began, except that I grouped the photos in sets of seven to have ready to load onto the main page for the project. I had no idea I would be telling a story in verse this month. I'm as surprised and thrilled as you are. I expected to be frustrated by the challenge of writing a variety of poems, and instead, I look forward (and often can't stop myself from writing forward) as I discover the story and figure out ways to fill in the gaps. How will it end? No idea. Stay tuned. (If you want to read from the beginning, go back to the poem for April 1, and read forward to today.)

Over at Poetrepository, I have added (with permission) poems that Steve Peterson and Carol Wilcox have written that seem to me to fit with the flow of the story I've got in my mind. Carol Varsalona has also written some fabulous partner poems using these photos. You can find them here.

Happy Poetry Month Poetry Friday! Laura has the roundup at Writing the World for Kids.

Mother

Mother

Iva, I made this move
for your own good.
You will become

a proper lady.
I let Auntie down,
but you will overcome

growing up on that wretched farm.
You will rise in society
to the level you are from.

You can squirm all you want,
but I've got you firmly
under my thumb.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016