Wednesday, October 3, 2007

My Mother's Art

She does not compromise what she alone sees.
The generosity of her hands on the canvas or the piano,
the counterpoint of her brushstrokes and her voice,
the walls become a pastiche or hold a rhapsody.

Moving through eras of little expectancy, rising up
out of her service, when her world turned to face
the sun she did not rebel but floated forward
and now beauty exists where there had been voids.

We are juxtaposed in the choir lofts for decades
and still there are songs we haven't sung.
When her fingers were on the piano keys for me
my small voice strained to equal the passion,
the music eternally suspended in me.

What my mother can do always has a future
without a murmur of leaving it behind.
So I understand what I can become, what I must become
for the infinity of mothers and daughters
for her mother, for my daughter.

2 comments:

Jennifer said...

This is so beautiful... I can see both of your beautiful faces and hear your voices...Thanks for sharing your blog with me...Jennifer

Gail said...

I, too, can see both of your beautiful faces and hear your beautiful voices.

It sure feels good to have been blessed with mother's we are proud of -- mother's we want to be like. Nothing made me feel better than to have Mrs. Kroen approach me after a duet I sang with Gloria Hartswick some time after my mom had passed, and tell me, "You sound just like your mother." It eased the pain of her loss as I knew in that instant that it was not imagination -- part of mom really was and still lives within me! Thanks for bringing back fond memories of both you family and mine! Gail