I don’t remember if I said goodbye to you at all. I was away, so far
and living the dream, a sordid tale, the novella you would abhor. You,
who had the sweetest heart in later years, your thick glasses
blowing up your eyes into enormous moons to witness the travesty.
I did not witness the Mass, I did not go to the grave site, I did not
mourn with my mother. She lost you and I did not mourn. I lost you,
and I did not mourn. Forgive me, please. Born a fool, known a fool, and yet
you loved me, prayed for me in the darkness and the quiet of the faithful night.
Could you ever know how I remember you with such heavy heart and mourn
for you so deeply now? Decades it’s taken me, decades since you’ve been gone.
I won’t forget, I never have.
You taught me to count, to pronounce those words so full of consonants.
There was no molding here, this was life that traversed an ocean, this was
life that knew no borders, this was a wish upon a very distant star.
If I could thank you (did I ever?) now I would. Sweet and strong, you were
my champion, my teacher, my soulful song. I would be a worthy human being
were I half the woman you shared with the world. I fear I am barely half
the woman you were, one quarter the woman that sprang from your loins.
And yet, I strive, full of hope and determination – the legacy
of the pioneering heart.
© Tina Zabielski 2011-2019
theminstrelscitadel 
What Will Never Be Known
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uvI0jU7jwwI
She shuffles flat footed on her clunky feet, trousers dragging at the back
a leash in one hand attached to one round white poodle. Tail wagging
following every step she takes, every step an adventure. One hand pushes
the shopping cart which contains one big floppy bag which contains
what people in cars passing by will never know. She moves it
a few feet forward. Shuffles back, and one hand picks up a large suitcase
lugs it forward. Shuffles back and the tail still wags and follows, still
an adventure. Two hands struggle with an over sized suitcase, with filthy clothes
piled on top like a colorful hat to crown the head of a boxy woman
in black at church. Shuffles back, and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth
until all of her worldly belongings are under the concrete awning. The rain
comes down as erratically as the spit from a 5 year old on a ball field. Diana,
the grey haired lady introduces Miss Daisy, whose eyes are bright
and whose tongue is red and waving at me. The tight curls on her back are sparse
and her skin is pink but her little feet find my shins in greeting. Devotion comes
in all sizes. Diana said the Motel 6 man discriminates against women with signs
at the side of the road. Said the woman tried to kill her. She told the motel man,
“Call District 2 police.” Diana called District 2 police. Said the cop told her,
“Keep your sign, Diana. You just keep your sign.” Twenty bucks
might get her a cab to where some other motel man might let her in.
Another twenty and she starts to cry. Wipes her face and her eyes
on the front of her shirt. Waves to me. Miss Daisy follows her every step,
into a wilderness where bobcats prowl and wildflowers grow, into the place
where loan sharks swim with their razor sharp fins in the midst of this concrete jungle,
on the fringe of this cow town city.
© Tina Zabielski 2011-2019