The prompt for today is to write a persona poem — a kind of dramatic monologue. Pick a character to inhabit — a person from history, an imaginary or mythical person, or just someone you’re not (like an Olympic marathon champion), and write in their voice.
The Daughter's Mother
This house always smells like spaghetti,
her mother says to no one in particular
as she arrives for Christmas dinner.
She finds the hardest chair
in the room, glares sourly
from her perch.
The conversation veers
to long ago family vacations.
Remember when we drove
to Canada and your father
left your sister in the middle
of nowhere. He told her,
not one more word, but she could
never keep her mouth shut.
So he stopped the car and
out she got. Then we drove
away and left her. Her mother
smiles triumphantly.
The daughter feels the familiar
hurt and shame forty years later.
The conversation drifts and
they consider childhood pets, most
notably Sam, jet-black mutt
who arrived on their doorstep
in a blizzard and stayed sixteen years.
The daughter says how sad she was
when Sam died, shares the memory,
and her mother says, No no no, you weren't there!
She's the only daughter in this family
of sons, the one who never fits in.
The daughter will never stop
trying to please her mother,
never stop hoping.
2 comments:
Ouch, this one felt familiar, Marianne. It's so important that people know they have value...and if we don't get that validation in chldhood, we look and look forever.
I love this piece. Now I'm even more alarmed, as I can't write anything on this last day of my spring break. LoL I'll try to lasso my muse...she's flitting around somewhere letting the world distract her.
Ouch, is right, Marianne. A well told tale.
Pamela
Post a Comment