Poetry
By Eurdis Nail Greer
Omniscience
I went to Your house today;
It was Mother's Day.
I sat on a pew with my aged mother
and my not-so-aged grandson.
My daughter sat beside me;
Her mind intent on the speaker,
Her eyes intent on her son, not that he noticed.
I'll confess, I didn't hear much that was said,
But I think you would approve of what my spirit felt.
I don't remember the exact words of the prayer,
But I remember a wide-eyed look of innocence
and the feel of a little hand slipping into mine.
It was a day I'll never forget.
You knew it would be, didn't You?
Dear Lord,
There's no use trying to figure out why that snake bit my grandson. Already I've heard a thousand reasons...each one the authority on it. Those who couldn't think of a reason, put it on You.
I just want to thank you for getting him well, for keeping him from being too sick. We could tell it was a bad one from the marks on his arms and all that swelling. He said to thank you for him, too. Right now, he thinks he may never swim in Strong River again. At first, his mama wanted to drain it dry and kill every snake there, but that's because she was scared and worried. She knows now there was a reason.
There's always a reason.
I don't know what it was.
I just know it tendered my heart towards him a little more.
It tendered my heart towards You, too.
Dear Lord
I know how Mary must have felt when she held her baby in her arms for the first time, knowing one day she would have to give him up to the world.
Even knowledge of a divine purpose didn't stop her heartache, nor Yours.
Now the same old world that destroyed her child is trying to destroy mine.
If there's a special lesson to be learned from all this pain, Lord, please help me hurry up and learn it.
Lord… are you up yet?
I tried to call several times last night, but your line was busy. You must have been talking to that new mother down the street... the one with all those kids... and I certainly didn't want to interrupt. Remember when mine were growing up and I'd call all the time... and about the silliest things, too. Seems all I did was worry about those youngsters of mine.
I felt everything they did wrong was somehow my fault. Maybe if I had given them time to learn on their own and not been so quick to judge; but I was afraid to let up, Lord, and I thought it all depended on me.
I know you were trying to tell me better, just like I was trying to tell them.
Well, that's why I called, Lord, to thank you again... and if there's anything You need me to do... Oh... that new mother down the street...
Why, of course I will! Anyway, one of the little ones reminds me of my youngest... the one whose goldfish died after she put lotion on its eyes and we stayed up all night crying...
I told You about that...remember?
Dear Lord,
When she was just a baby
And got pinched fingers and hurt,
I hurt.
When she got older
And experienced hurt feelings,
I hurt.
Then when she grew up
And out of my arms and into the world,
And hurt for all the things she couldn't have;
I hurt because I had to refuse her.
Even when she chose to go against my wishes
And eventually got hurt,
I hurt all the more.
At times I feel myself growing cold and distant,
Immune to hurt.
Don't let me do this, Lord,
For as long as I hurt,
I care.
Lord…
I feel like such a failure with my children.
They look to me for guidance
and find a floundering, insecure child instead.
Sometimes I feel they're the adult
and I the child.
Help me to remember that all knowledge comes from you,
that parents are but representatives of your wisdom and love,
that we are all your children
in different stages of learning and growth.
Remind me that I am to be
what I want them to become...
And thank you for listening to me with such patience,
as I should be showing mine.
My Daughter, My Friend
Letters hidden in a trunk
Their oft' read pages worn,
Speak impatiently of life,
Hint of sadness, love forlorn.
They hunger yet for yesteryear's
Carefree times
And thrills-
Prom nights, dates, and whispered dreams.
Treasured moments, treasured still.
In time, they held
A lock of hair, a tooth,
A program from a play.
Later, scented lavender,
Dried petals from a bride's bouquet.
Age, then wisdom, formed a bond
Enriched by letters through the years.
Tearstained pages from a daughter
Stained once more by Mother's tears.
Last Born
When she came home for a visit
and we embraced,
A part of me wanted to hold my last-born
in my arms,
stroke her hair,
and sing lullabyes to her like when she was a child.
And when on into the night, she endlessly chattered-
A part of me withdrew to observe
my grownup daughter in her new habitat-
with new lifestyles, new friends-
So much a part of her, so distant from me.
And when we said goodbye,
My heart cried;
And later on, in solitude,
my eyes formed a duet with my heart,
and the part of me that longed to hold her,
let her go...
Where is she?
Where is the infant
who made parents out of two children,
and gave new meaning to the word love,
who dressed up in mama's skirts and papa's shoes,
who practiced music for obedience sake
and always came home on time?
Where is the teen who scraped the bike
and then the car,
who hated braces but never complained-
at least not about braces-
who went to church, and complained
about double standards and unfairness of life?
There she is—in her wedding gown—trying not to cry
as she straightens Papa's tie
and wipes tears from Mama's eyes.
For Jennifer & Dana
The house was empty, void of sound-
No little children running 'round.
There wasn't really much to do
But soon enough, God gave me two.
Sometimes I'd think, "I've done my part.
I do not want another start
At raising kids like others do!"
And God would point my heart toward you.
It's never hard to love your own,
Even when they're grown and gone.
God still had work for me to do
...discover love for both of you.
Just for Me
I brought molasses
from the shed,
checked for eggs
just like she said;
then pushed my chair to Mama's knee,
while she made teacakes
just
for
me.
Hi-ho Silver
He whispered in the pony's ear
and calmed the nervous beast.
He slid into the saddle
with a cowboy's practiced ease.
He spurred his mount, then shouted "Whoa!",
his countenance chagrined.
He leaned his body to the side and
slipped a quarter in.
A Grandma’s Wish
I have a little grandson-(at least I think I do.)
He has the biggest, brightest eyes-
(I guess they are still blue.)
He uses big important words-
By now he knows some more.
(I know I'd like to see him
running up to my front door!)
I guess his blond hair still is straight
And needs a little trim.
I guess by now that space filled up
Where that first tooth had been.
And those long jeans that dragged the floor
Are way past ankle high-
(I wish I could pick up the phone
and talk to him awhile.)
I see him in his desk at school,
Back straight, head held high.
I see him rise to say the pledge,
That twinkle in his eye.
I see him reading, writing, studying each day,
(I also picture him at recess-first one out to play.)
I wish that I could be the one
To meet his bus each day
Give him milk and cookies
Watch him wile his time away.
(I wish my grandson lived next door
and not so far away.)
Future Stars
Some are short
Some are tall
Some you hardly see at all.
Wide-legged shorts on knobby limbs,
Long-tailed shirts for "Her and Him",
Wet cowlicks and ponytails
Decorate these boys and girls.
Anxious parents-one and all-
Come to watch their kids play ball.
Mother of Three
A mother I am, a mother of three.
A mother of sons I was not meant to be.
I prayed for a son "for my husband," I said.
"I'll take any kind-even hair that is red,
or no hair at all will be all right with me."
But a mother of sons I was not meant to be.
I made frilly dresses for three little girls,
Made Easter bonnets to cover their curls,
And gave up my dreams for a son finally.
A mother of sons I was not meant to be.
I made wedding dresses for three grown-up girls,
Made satin bonnets to hold wedding veils.
God answers prayers in his own way, you see,
And soon gave me grandsons, not one, but three!
A mother of sons was not meant for me.
A mother of grandsons, He meant me to be.
Before He Came
Before he came...
the pond stood still, the kittens played
on my windowsill,
the doors stayed shut, the lamps burned low,
But that was some light years ago
... before he came.
Before he came the grass grew high,
the dog just moped and so did I.
There were no fries or chocolate pie
... before he came.
Before he came the stars were small,
and sleep o'er took the whippoorwill's call.
The fireflies' light seemed dim at night
... before he came.
Before he came...
the ball stayed lost and I forgot
what candy cost.
The ping pong table lay in dust,
Horseshoes hung on nails to rust;
And I forgot what made me cuss
...before he came.
Remembering
I walked around where yesterday
the feet of children loudly played,
and traipsed through moss and violets
while fishing to their heart's content.
The grapevine's hanging quietly now-
where yesterday it felt the power
of tireless hands and Tarzan yells,
that split the heavens, for a spell.
Leftover bait,
an empty stump,
the first-aid kit for itchy bumps,
some fishing line still lying there
from yesterday's entangled hair,
discarded bandaid a hero wore,
dried up sandwich,
an apple core...
All tell the tale of yesterday
when my grandchildren came to play.