Mother's Death

Grief enters even the prepared mind
as a child my purple Easter duckling died

now, my mother's shrivelled body,
76 pounds, 94 years, slows, sinking

feet first, then legs grow cold
breathing shallows, finally rattles

my sister and i comfort each other
saying "Mother's escaped from pain

and mindlessness," we hug and smile
starting the preparations and phone calls

but secretly we know each other's lie,
later, we'll quietly cry alone.

8/12/2004
7 minutes

A slide show honoring my mother, May Clark Stevens.
( Small file, loads quickly, 2.18 minutes runtime.)
Click Here
 
  Mother's death, my most popular poem to date, will pass 2000 hits in the next few days.  Recently I added the slide show above, and today 3/24/2006 I am adding some family history photo booklets, which I was prompted to make over the past years as first my father, then my uncle and finally my mother died.

Making these booklets was a help to me and I enjoyed passing out copies over the years.  I am posting them now for a couple of reasons.  One, it gives me a chance work with them again, which is always my pleasure, Posting them here assembles them with the poem, which is gaining some exposure.  Members of my family may enjoy a chance to see them again, should they stop by.

But, really the poem and the booklets are part the universal story.  It's not just one story ; it's everyperson's story.  Endless variation, yes, and each of these other stories are worth telling. These booklets are easy to make.  Please see my story "Family History Photo Booklets."  Perhaps you would give it a try with your family's story?

Francis A Clark, my mother's brother.  View here.
Joe and May Stevens, my parents.  View here.
Henry, Murray, Barbara, me and my brother and sister.  View here.
(all .pdf files)

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Mom's Birthday May 4, 2006

May Elvira Clark Stevens May 4 1908 -- June 11 2004

Mom's birthday is always a special day, even though I do not have an addresses to send cards to anymore. But she is always in my thoughts, especially those days when cards were possible to send and phone calls could go through.

This year I'm remembering Mom reading to me when I was 6 years old, plus or minus. After supper and before bedtime Mom would have me sit in her lap while she read prose and poetry. I often heard Robert Frost poems, the ones many of us know, about the crow shaking down snow, about walls and neighbors, horse and sleigh rides in winter woods, and the favorite- "so young it tottters when she licks it with her tongue."

Mom graduated from Middlebury College in Middlebury, Vermont USA and though she enjoyed her school work she mostly spoke of summers waiting on tables at Breadloaf when Robert Frost was in residence and teaching. Though she was not attending the writing confrence, there were public events that she could attend due to her being a Middlebury student.

An other of Mom's favorites was, Alfred Noyes, "The highwayman" and when she was finished she would smile gently down at me, all the while I was trying to handle the tragedy that had just flooded my ears and senses. The beginning was stirring, I agree..."The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor ..." but the ending always burned me alive. But then, I have never found violence to be entertaining, for some odd reason, because so many people do. It's a staple, a given that most serious entertainment has to be violent. Well, I didn't understand it back then and still don't.

But I understand very well how important it proved to be for me that Mom read to me in the evenings when I was a small child. Would that every child could be read to.

Alfred Noyes poem, "The highwayman"


  
 Mother's and Father's days 2006 
A short tribute and essay.   Here