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.

3 comments:

  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...

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

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  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.

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