All Dolled Up – September 18, 2011 for my mother’s 85th Birthday.

Posted: September 18, 2011 in Samples of My Writing, Writing Posts

A poem for my mother on her 85th Birthday. Happy Birthday Mom!  This is from Partake.

And a reading of another poem for my mother:

All Dolled Up

Time blurs the truth
And lies become clearer.
My mother used to get all dolled up
Before she went into Kenora
That was how she put it.
I need to get dolled up
Now she never wears make-up.
In a photo of her taken when she
Was twenty-one she wears
Lipstick and mascara
In all the others she wears none.

I liked her best without make-up
And when I’d watch her get ready
I never wondered why she wore some
And my father didn’t.
Most of those memories are badly lit.
I can’t make out much of them
No sounds or smells
Not the colours of furniture or clothes
Just a few words here and there
And some song in the background always there
Unforgettable or Moon River
What remains
Are quick hand movements in poor light

On those days my mother wore makeup
My father would drive her into Kenora
In his 1951 Ford half-ton
And she shopped for groceries or clothes for us kids.
My father waited in the truck
His hair a mess his hands dirty
If someone came by that he knew
He’d get out and talk to them
With one foot resting on the front bumper
My mother would return to the truck
Weighed down with her shopping
And my father would hoist each bag
Into the back where my brother and I waited

At home, my mother never took off
Her make-up until she went to bed
The lipstick usually smeared a bit
And the rouge vanished first
And the eye shadow ran
By the end of the day
She looked as if her face
Were slipping away.

Now she sits in her wheel chair and watches TV
Or waits to be wheeled down for a meal
She says words at random
Although in her head
They make perfect sense
We travel time together
Momentary bliss
All we have.

Our memories
Aren’t our lives
But what we’ve dolled up
In front of a mirror
To us they look beautiful
All made up.

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Comments
  1. A beautiful tribute to your mother. And somehow all mothers. I remember my mother with her orange lipstick also shopping for groceries. And my son, at about two, banging on the bedroom door, wanting in to see my ‘get dolled-up’.

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