Friday, April 29, 2016



It seems like just yesterday
my little girl was in ruffles and a bonnet,
then serious-faced with that long, long hair.

Our Lizzy was the observer.
She worshipped Lewis,
kept Jack out of more than his share 

of trouble. She watched over Henry
like a mother hen.
She could beat me at checkers, fair and square.

Now I've given her away.
My little girl.
Take care of her, young man. Take good care.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

I'm going to miss this family I've invented from random photographs and scraps of my own family's history. I plan to work on giving them a more proper storyline. Or perhaps I'll just collect them into an e-book. Time will tell. It always does, it seems.

Buffy has the Poetry Friday roundup at Buffy's Blog.


  1. I remember
    pinning the flower
    of your lapel,
    and your eyes looking
    off into the future,
    as if everything that would unfold
    was unfolding down the road,
    so I brought you
    back into the moment
    so that you might live here,
    right now, forever.

    or two

    1. A sweet moment between father and daughter. Beautifully captured!

    2. that you might live here,
      right now, forever.

      Wow, Kevin. So beautiful.

  2. I'm going to miss your poems this family too! But I'm really thinking they will show up in a book someday pretty soon!


    Really, my love?
    You don't remember
    how we slipped rings
    onto each other's fingers
    in front of Judge Hobbs
    that day some fifty years ago?
    Or how I licked the sticky frosting
    off your fingers after we cut the cake?
    How the tin cans on the bumper
    rattled as we drove away
    from the church that afternoon?

    Well, perhaps you remember
    me carrying you across the threshold
    or the musty wet-dog smell
    of the rug in our motel room
    on our honeymoon that weekend?
    Do you remember how your father
    bought dinner for us that first night?
    His eyes tears as he handed me
    the folded twenty-dollar bill
    our first night as man and wife,
    "Have a steak on me, tonight," he said.

    Do you remember laying next
    to me in the bed that first night
    or ten thousand after that?
    How our bodies fit together,
    knew each other,
    created life,
    loved again.

    Today's our anniversary, dear.
    Surely you remember us?

    (c) Carol Wilcox, 2016

    1. Ahh... Kevin's poem makes us stop time, but yours imagines all the possible years of a long life together. Sigh.

    2. sweet, Carol, and so bitter. "Surely you remember us?" at the end of such a long time together. And yet, this happens.

  3. All grown up now...Mary Lee, while I did not write alongside you as much as I thought I could, I loved this story that has evolved from your poems. Kevin and Carol, your poems were remarkable today as unfolding memories of joy for a supposed bride.

  4. Mary Lee, I'm going to miss them, too. For sure, you have taken good care of these folks through the month.

    Like Carol V., I had hoped to write more with you, but it was not to be.

  5. It's hard to believe you made these guys up - all of the pathos and drama of a family - but from photographic evidence of ...nothing, really, except that they existed.

    Well done!