I was going to going to write more about Mama and Me but I decided instead to share a few of my mother's poems that she wrote while I was growing up. For 40 years, my mother wrote a column, Speaking from Cheviot, in a neighborhood paper. But everyday it seemed, she wrote poems...on scraps on paper, in her telephone book...in fact, she wrote them wherever she happened to be in our house.
Years ago, I gave my mother a small black three-ring binder for her poems. On the cover, I had an artist write: In My Life by Marjorie L. Schwartz. My mother typed her poems on her IBM Selectric and put them in her book. These are a few of my mom's many poems.
do you have the problem of a middle child?
the consensus is...you do
if you've an older one and a younger one
psychiatry says you're through.
in our house...the big one
is the very first grandson
and the little one is
precocious and wild.
but...our one in the middle
plays the fiddle
and her charm has us
On a Sad Day
Don't cry for me
I have loved and been loved
With more sweetness than most
I promise to be a gentle ghost
with only a reminder here and there
an off-key song...a steak that's rare
an ice cream cone...a silly poem
So, smile awhile and think of the stories I'd tell
then remember me...and laugh like hell!
His and Hers...March 1973
i'm not a religious person
nor have i ever been
but i could be swayed
and possibly saved
if God were a Her...not a Him!