Something about my mother,
Mary Etta
Late 1950s to early 1960s
When I think of my mother,
I remember how much she liked
her Billy Vaughan and Floyd Cramer records,
but when she listened to Glenn Miller or Harry James
she swayed in ways that seemed unmotherly.
Sometimes I would catch sight of her when she
danced with the broom rather than sweep the floor.
I felt like I should have covered my eyes.
It was awkward, so I’d go outside and play.
But when I returned, she would be humming
one of the band tunes, and the delicious aroma
of fresh baked cookies filled the house.
In that moment, with a mouth full of cookie,
the world felt right side up.
From: Memories and the Things Left Behind:
A Non-linear Recollection
Unpub. MS p. 45
