a poem for review...

medium for the archieves
april 8th, 2005

my mom wasnt a stay-at-home mom
she was a housewife*
I dont have childhood memories
of her scrubbing, and vaccuuming
and moping the floors
to a spin-n-span sparkle
But the house was always clean

When I stay home
I get some chores done
but my house will never be
as clean as my mother's

My mother went to college
she was never taught
that she was to marry
a nice-man to take care of
she married for love
and took care of him
none-the-less

generations of women
are being rasied
to think they can be
good enough to work
but are they good enough
to keep up a home?

I remember the ironing
a lost art form
my mother would iron
a gargantuan table cloth
the "good linen"
with masterful skill
not a millimeter would touch the ground
not a centimeter ironed twice
in 25 minutes
the weeks ironing was done

I dont know how to
turn my own iron ON
i cant remember if
you wait for it to beep
or the light to go off
when it is ready
because I iron
once a year
at most

my mother is an arist
of ink and paint and word
but the thing I admire most
is her artistic stylings
in home care
because that is americana
and truely
a thing of the past

*revision -- after my mother's review I decided I should change this word to "homemaker". A) she like the word better (a.k.a. thinks it has better connotations) and B) thinks it drives home the point of caring for a home. I agree with point A, but point B...is actually more shocking to hear and therefore makes the poem more striking when it takes the turn of respect. We discussed this and we both agree, either could work either way. She also told me the story of how she learned to iron...from my father's father. A story for another time.