| Biographical Poetry posted September 4, 2008 |
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A poem about a lasting memory of my mother.
Snapshot
by adewpearl
Dedicated to Mommy.
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My mother cleaned the kitchen on her knees. It's like a snapshot captured from the past - A kneeling pad beneath her on the floor, The wooden-handled scrub brush in her grasp. I think she must have coated it with wax - I close my eyes and still can see the shine. The sparkle of the floor's linoleum - A memory that's never left my mind. She died before I left the second grade - I wish my memories were more. Of those I have, no picture is more clear Than my mother with her scrub brush on the floor. |
 Recognized |
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I have many vivid and detailed memories of my dad, who died when I was 35, but my memories of my mother are few. Among those, this stands out. If you wonder why the photo of dogwood to go with a snapshot of scrubbing floors, the honest answer is I could find no suitable photos at FanArt of kitchens, scrubbing, mothers. And so I thought of the dogwood trees that grew in our yard, that seem so fresh and clean, just like my mother's newly scrubbed linoleum. Dogwood blossom just around Mother's Day, and we'd always take a drive through the dogwood groves of nearby Valley Forge Park because my mother and I both loved them so. I hope this association of clean floors and dogwood blossoms is not too much of a stretch for readers. :-)
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