Mother

One of my sisters recently discovered this poem, written by our grandmother. It had been published in a book titled Evergreen Leaves, a collection of mostly women poets from the northwest, published in 1941, in Seattle. We think the location she had in mind was the farm where she grew up in Iowa.

The picture I included is grandma Dawn, taken in probably 1938, holding my sis on the right and the granddaughter of a dear friend on the left.

Mother

At meal time it was mother
Used to wash my dirty face,
Comb my tangled curls,
And tie my bib in place.

At bedtime it was mother
Tucked in little tired feet,
For mother’s hands were gentle
Though browned by sun and heat.

And in summer it was mother
Hoed the garden row by row,
Then by lamplight made our dresses,
Late at night would sit and sew.

Mother planned our schooling
And gladly went without
So we could have the chances
She had only dreamed about.

I can see the swing and hammock,
The old orchard where we played,
See the pasture with the footpath
To the creek where we had strayed.

But the picture that is dearest,
Is of mother’s wavy hair
As she bowed her head in blessing
When she said our evening prayer.

DAWN GOODNOUGH