Beth Camp Historical Fiction

Sunday, May 04, 2008

#4 Maya, mother mine

Maya, mother mine, beauteous
Hollywood starlet, couldn’t bowl, burned
biscuits every time, loved us kids and loved
to dance. She once crossed a freeway
to grab a beer and flew
80 feet in front of a truck.
A little wobbly thereafter,
this wild woman died far too young from a fall
into the ocean, a sneaker wave
no one expected. In repose, still
innocent, still unforgettable,
still my mother.


  1. oh beth that was perfect... not at all sappy,, in fact just a little austere,, almost as if you know her more thru memory than you do thru actual life... very perfect...

  2. Your memory of this beautiful woman is perfectly expressed in this restrained but vivid poem.

  3. Ah how this fits...and RWP has a prompt for mother's this week, too. The post to link to goes up Monday after midnight CST.