Mama

My mother's birthday approaches--and my daughter, her namesake. Born March 2, 1899, she is Lola Samantha Nelson Brimley but was never Samantha to me. Samantha is her mother's name. Is all this clear? Lola fit her, and so did Mama, which is all I ever called her.

I remember some names she called me.

Darling girl
Dear heart
Merry sunshine
September morn (I was born in September)
Impudent little piece
You little asssk your mother
Cross patch
Carol
Martha
Sterling

Those last two might fall out while she was trying to find the real right name. I thought it so funny of her until I grew up and had children and could not always find their names when I needed to.

This is a poem I wrote for my mother soon after her death those 30 years ago. One poem of several about her.

Dear Mama,

I miss you. I always thought

you might come back to tell me

some good news about where

you've gone. Nights and even days

I think about the last time I saw you,

lying in that bed, hair bunched

from sweat and struggle and

strung out long like grandma's.

Sometimes my dreams bring you

here and you look young and good

in your sparkly black dress. Wouldn't

I love that.

Your daughter,

Carol