Mum's stained glass - edit #1

[just mercedes]

Mum’s Stained Glass
 
 
 
 
You remembered you’d missed your early morning cuppa
when I asked the hour I was born, to start my star chart.
 
Child bearing and birthing came easy to you. Six kids
in eight years, tumbled together, a litter of pups.
 
Summers bottling fruit, making jams and chutney
so the kitchen cupboards filled with stained glass.
 
A child of the Depression throws nothing away;
plastic, paper, you never know when you’ll need it.
 
My letters arrived, through love and loss and laziness,
from other countries and different marriages.
 
I found them in a suitcase while packing up your house.
Here we are again together, at the other end of life.
 
No words arrive now. You no longer recognize me.
You smile at whoever brings you a cup of tea.
 
 
 
 







You remembered you’d missed your early morning cuppa
when I asked the hour I was born, to start my star chart.
 
Child bearing and birthing came easy to you. Six kids
in eight years, tumbled together, a litter of pups.
 
Summers spent bottling fruit, making jams and chutney
so the kitchen cupboards filled with stained glass.
 
A child of the Depression throws nothing away;
plastic, paper, you never know when you’ll need it.
 
I wrote to you, through love and loss and laziness,
from other countries, and different marriages.
 
I found my letters in a suitcase while packing you up.
Now we are together again, at the other end of life,
 
my words don’t arrive. You don’t understand.
You’re very tired, making your own way home.
 
 
 
 

[Leanne]

You remembered you’d missed your early morning cuppa -- these lines immediately introduce an unsentimental, matter-of-fact woman for whom motherhood is simply something to be done
when I asked the hour I was born, to start my star chart. -- in contrast, the daughter is a little flighty, more spiritual perhaps -- there is a dissonance between the two
 
Child bearing and birthing came easy to you. Six kids
in eight years, tumbled together, a litter of pups.
 
Summers spent bottling fruit, making jams and chutney
so the kitchen cupboards filled with stained glass. -- a beautiful, practical sythesis between the daughter's artistic nature and the mother's utility
 
A child of the Depression throws nothing away;
plastic, paper, you never know when you’ll need it. -- explanation of the previous lines, and a good setup for those that follow
 
I wrote to you, through love and loss and laziness,
from other countries, and different marriages.
 
I found my letters in a suitcase while packing you up. -- normally we would view this as sentiment, and yet because we've already been told of the mother's reluctance to throw away anything that might be useful, it can also be seen as expediency
Now we are together again, at the other end of life,
 
my words don’t arrive. You don’t understand.
You’re very tired, making your own way home. -- to me, this is the only line that falls into trite and I can't really explain it, except that it just seems too pat
 
 
 
 

[just mercedes]

Thanks Leanne - I'm not happy with the last line either. I wrote it while she was still alive. Still thinking.

[Leanne]

Because of the stained glass thing, I'm thinking maybe something about lead?

[Leanne]

Or a tea reference, to bookend.

[Todd]

Hi Mercedes,

I didn't find much that I didn't like here. I fear I won't have much to offer, but here goes.

You remembered you’d missed your early morning cuppa
when I asked the hour I was born, to start my star chart.--I like the interaction and contrast between the mother and daughter in this first couplet. It's a very immediate way to define the differences and begin to set the tension.
 
Child bearing and birthing came easy to you. Six kids
in eight years, tumbled together, a litter of pups.
 
Summers spent bottling fruit, making jams and chutney
so the kitchen cupboards filled with stained glass.--Goes back to the title, and probably my favorite part of the poem. I think this is the central metaphor. Here's how I took it. The mother as we learn later went through the depression. This bottling of food is a practical matter. The fanciful daughter seems something in it that the mother probably never could. Again worker vs artist. This is compact and carries a lot of emotional subtext. Stained glass also makes you think of churches maybe implying reconciliation, though I think mostly it isn't being used for that. I think its simply one person sees food the other person sees something more magical. If I went Biblical (due to the stained glass) the mother is Martha, the daughter is Mary.
 
A child of the Depression throws nothing away;
plastic, paper, you never know when you’ll need it.--Nice set up lines
 
I wrote to you, through love and loss and laziness,--Pleasing sonics with the L sounds.
from other countries, and different marriages.--smooth summary in the couplet
 
I found my letters in a suitcase while packing you up.--I took this as bringing the mother to come live with her. Its interesting that the letters were in a suitcase, that might imply that if the mother needed to leave these would go with her. Though the later line about words don't arrive might call that to question. It may have just been a spot to put them. I go back and forth on this, because if it was truly as stark as the latter option you probably would have added unopened.
Now we are together again, at the other end of life,
 
my words don’t arrive. You don’t understand.--There's a part of me that wants to split the ideas of this line into your final couplet and ending with it. Even than this probably still needs something more.
You’re very tired, making your own way home.--This doesn't feel like the closure I was suspecting. There probably needs to be a tie in earlier to make get to the ending you need. I'm not sure honestly. Just that this doesn't feel like the wrap.
 
 
 
 

This could turn into something really nice. I feel that given your title and the importance of the different interpretations of stained glass mother vs daughter, the answer for closure is there.

I hope some of that ramble is helpful.

Best,

Todd

[just mercedes]

Thanks Todd - you've given me a lot to think about.

---

I found every letter I'd ever written her over 40 years, saved in a suitcase, when I was packing up her house after she'd moved into care. Made me cry. I'll have to find a better way to say that. She had dementia, and didn't know me by then.

[Todd]

Thanks Todd - you've given me a lot to think about.

---

I found every letter I'd ever written her over 40 years, saved in a suitcase, when I was packing up her house after she'd moved into care. Made me cry. I'll have to find a better way to say that. She had dementia, and didn't know me by then.

That's so very sad, Mercedes. I've dealt with some of that myself in the family. I am sorry.

[just mercedes]

I think I'm getting there. Thanks all.

[Todd]

Hi Mercedes,

I think the revision has a better sense of closure now. You have more of a sense of where the pain is. Much stronger. You also made a few slight adjustments in the wording (cutting spent, dealing with the letters, etc); I found all of your choices superior to the original. It feels like a very strong piece now.

Best,

Todd

[Leanne]

A much improved version, I would say. The change to "my letters arrived" means that there aren't two stanzas starting with "I", which shifts the focus back to the mother. Bookending with tea is actually a lot better than I thought it would be, because of your sensitive handling.

This is as close to a complete poem as I've seen for a long time.

[just mercedes]

Thanks, Leanne and Todd. For help, and for encouragement.