Going Home - 1949

The train puffs into the station,
exhaling with a long sigh,
like an old man reluctantly expiring.
Steam settles down, surrounding
mother, brother and me.

Through vapor, I look into mother's face,
her chin quivers.  We climb aboard,
emotionally unprepared for a trip
we do not want to take.

The porter, his uniform dark as midnight,
checks our tickets--we're on our way
to Mama Sally's farm, where I was born.

My mother says father is in a special compartment
of the train.  I wonder where that may be.
I don't ask questions, afraid of the answer.

Mother has told us that my father
will lie in Mama Sally's parlor.
"It's the country way, she says,
so friends may call at their leisure."

I see Mama Sally at her churn,
churning productively 'til butter comes to the top,
removing it, shaping it into a butter mound,
with deft fingers delicately forming a design
on top.

I am remembering the long hall that stretched
from front door to back, the hall
that my young brother waxed with lard,
much to my mother's chagrin.

Then troubled thoughts tumble,
not soothed by synchronized rhythm
of turning wheels on the tracks
beneath.

Will this train ride ever be over?
How will we comfort Mama Sally,
when we are not comforted?
How will we stand in the parlor
with father lying still as stone?
Will mother ever stop crying?

(c)Laniere Gresham                     2000

published in Skipping Stones Vol VI

Mindworm Press, Chesapeake, VA