It seems in 1974-75, I wrote more in verse than I did in prose; not sure why.  Thought it was appropriate though, to put the following together just in time for Mother’s Day, 2009.  The first, memories of my maternal grandmother, Julia Marguerite Bailey Brooks, 1907-1980, the second thoughts of my mother, Helen Marguerite Brooks Witt, 1924-1988, and the third was written as I awaited the birth of my third child, my son.                                

 

         GRANDMOTHER

 

 

Nostalgic thoughts drift my way

On this, another Mother’s Day,

Loving remembrances of you are there,

A ringer washer, and pin curled hair.

 

All dressed up on another day

In a full length fur coat and chic beret

With a soft lipsticked mouth which made

Prints on my cheek that I didn’t want to fade.

 

The crayolas in the 49 cent (luxurious)! box

That you sent to help me forget my chicken pox.

The fragrant smell of sugar cookies baking

While a brown organdy dress (for me) you were making.

 

Making my favorite dinner of fried chicken,

mashed potatoes and peas

Scrubbing the kitchen floor ‘til it shone on your knees.

Gentle, yet firm, spoiling a little,

You always tried to fatten my middle.

 

Though the past we cannot retain,

These special memories will always remain.

In retrospect, now I can see

You were everything a grandmother should be!                                                                                         

                                  MaryHelen Cuellar, 1974                       

     

 

        TO MY MOTHER

 

 

As you look back over the years,

The smiles, laughter, and tears

And you ask yourself, what was it all worth?

 

It was worth riches to me,

And I hope you can see

Some accomplishment at last in my birth.

 

As my own children progress,

I know the distress

You must have felt as we grew.

 

The mixed feelings of pride

And pain deep inside

For our lives were our own as you knew.

                       MaryHelen Cuellar, 1974

 

                    

 

 LADY IN WAITING FOR THE PRINCE OR PRINCESS

 

 

You kick me so vigorously, as if you didn’t like me,

But maybe it’s just to get my attention.

As if you didn’t already have it,

Have I thought of much else for the last seven months?

 

Wondering who you’ll be,

Even wondering what you’ll be,

A rough and tough little boy,

Or a fat and sassy, precocious girl?

 

Whoever you are, Jason or Elena,

I can’t wait to see you,

Hold you in my arms,

Take care of your wants and needs.

 

And watch you grow.

Quietly in your cocoon like infancy,

Protectively, in your toddling stage,

Joyfully, through every age.

 

C’mon out, my little one,

The stage is set and ready,

Your audience awaits you,

Come and rule your little world.

     MaryHelen Cuellar, 9/9/1975