ALL AT ONCE
She drank to forget
But when she drank
she remembered
as though reading from
a volume of Dickens,
reciting a poem
by Gwendolyn Brooks,
exhaling a road song
by Woodie Guthrie
Slowly, no rampage,
these ramblings; recalled
in a trance of romance and
morbid, mothballed memory
all at once
Cloistered as she and I were
in our clapboard ranch house
To me, she was home
To her, this house,
this home meant a range,
a fridge, a freezer,
a coffee pot, a yard
a car, and especially
a bathroom that locked
all at once
“Back then,” as it always
started, these old stories,
“back then” was a
cumbersome load
carried by a little girl
whose mother would
disappear mysteriously
in the middle of the night
and come back weeks later
haggard but much calmer
after being committed
all at once
She told me of
late-night runs from
the landlord and the
perils of being the
only girl with an
absent mother and
a drunken father
and a brother who was
sent off to Auntie Ruth’s
All this turmoil
milling through her mind
In a gaze hazy with
absolute truth
all at once
She confessed it all
I was her eight-year-old
confidante, her committed,
codependent kid and I
maintained that role
until she died. It’s hard
being all things
to one person
all at once
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Photo of Charlotte at age 9 (with “Little Iodine” bow, all the rage back then), all rights reserved by Amy Barlow Liberatore © 2013
When I read Three Word Wednesday’s prompt words (Rampage, Morbid, Cumbersome), they took me back to The Kitchen Table Days, afternoons with my mom. She had gin and I had chocolate milk… later, coffee. I’d listen for hours; sometimes, she’d fall asleep in her folded arms and I’d wake her and lead her to bed. The three writers cited (Dickens, Brooks, and Guthrie, “all at once”) were embedded in this one woman forever. The poverty and sharp observation of the British author; the African-American jazz flavor of the poet; and her Midwestern upbringing in Iowa, along with her support for social justice (just read the unpublished final verse of “This Land Is Your Land”) by the songwriter.
There is much alliteration in this piece, among other “tricks of the trade,” so dverse’s Poet’s Toolbox will also receive a link. Check these sites out, folks. There are literally HUNDREDS of great poets contributing to these blogs. Also check out Poets United, my poetic family.
My mother: Singer, writer, storyteller, alcoholic, mental health history unknown. But if YOUR mom was institutionalized repeatedly and came back looking like Blanche did (haggard, calm after massive electroshock) in those days, you’d have thought twice about seeing anyone except your clergyman. I do not blame her, nor do I attempt to demonize her. Charlotte was a helluva lot of fun, and she and Blanche are a huge part of the reason I’m the sharp little pencil I am today. Peace, Amy
Feb 14, 2013 @ 19:53:56
Your relationship w your mom reminds me of my sister’s with our parents. weird. and generally no alcohol involved.
Feb 19, 2013 @ 22:52:01
My mom was pretty much running on alcohol, but I got sober long, long ago after a three-year “toot” in my 20s. And that I took to California, so I wouldn’t cause my folks a scandal in our hometown.
Feb 14, 2013 @ 20:09:01
dang…it is hard being all things to someone…and hard to live with as well…i am glad they helped sharpen your pencil but…sounds hard for sure…
seriously, how is it possible we both put brooks in our poems…ha.
Feb 19, 2013 @ 22:52:38
That happens a lot with several poets I know, in particular, Nimue and Sara. Don’t know why, sort of freakish and cool!!
Feb 14, 2013 @ 20:27:35
What a life… I so enjoyed reading this and learning more about you, Amy. Just wonderful!
Feb 19, 2013 @ 23:00:05
Laurie, thanks so much. And you are rockin’ that Gravatar, too!
My family is like an omelette… delicious, but you have to get past the bits of eggshell.
Feb 14, 2013 @ 20:29:23
Oh my heart aches for the little girl she was, and in your turn, the little girl you were. Heavy loads to carry, life bewildering and ever-changing. But yes, you are so right – it’s what made you the sharp little pencil you are today!!!!!! The electroshock of those days is frightening. Did you ever watch the movie about Frances Farmer? They actually gave her a lobotomy. My God. Amy, I love you. Thank God those childhoods of ours gave us strength – and a sense of humor! The sense of humor is what saves us!
Feb 19, 2013 @ 23:03:39
Sherry, this is darkly funny – one day in NYC I was depressed as hell and decided to go to the movies. “Frances” had just come out… “Oh, Jessica Lange! And I remember Frances Farmer in ‘Come and Get It’ and other flicks.”
Actually, after seeing THAT hell, I came out thinking I had it better than I thought that day! Know what I mean? Thx for that memory, friend. Love, Amy
Feb 14, 2013 @ 20:30:22
This is a really touching powerful poem. Very good.
Feb 19, 2013 @ 23:06:32
Thanks so much, Deana!
Feb 14, 2013 @ 20:32:01
Lovely sad poem – you can’t help but feel sorry for the mother, but of course, it’s a bit different when a child is involved. k.
Feb 19, 2013 @ 23:09:10
It’s just me and my mom, who’s been gone for 20 years. I can still hear her taking a drag on her Bel-Air. Curiously, it’s a huge part of why my life has been so interesting, you know? Thanks, K. Amy
Feb 14, 2013 @ 21:27:53
This is absolutely amazing and heartbreaking at the same time. *Hugs*
Feb 19, 2013 @ 23:12:50
Gretchen, you are the soul of understanding. THanks, hon. Love, Amy
Feb 14, 2013 @ 23:31:57
The writing techniques you use are enhanced by the language you’ve chosen ~ great use of repetition ~ I love this poem Amy and will certainly return to read it again.
Feb 19, 2013 @ 23:14:22
Thanks so much, Polly. I value your opinion, and to say you’ll read it again is a nice compliment. Off to see you now! Peace, Amy
Feb 14, 2013 @ 23:50:13
Peace, Amy.
Feb 24, 2013 @ 14:57:58
And to you, Nino. I’ll come over to your site now! Amy
Feb 14, 2013 @ 23:52:26
All at once a child is living a grown up world. Childhood is marred and adulthood scarred. You are like a waterfall able to let it all pour out over the ravine. It is sad yes but what strength behind these words.
Feb 24, 2013 @ 15:07:03
Robin, a thoughtful (and rhyming!) reply. Thank you for understanding the ravine, because if not for that, I’d still be caught in that cesspool. Bless you, Amy
Feb 15, 2013 @ 00:07:46
I agree there’s a lot of strength behind this story, a very powerful poem for sure.
Feb 24, 2013 @ 15:36:36
Thanks, Cat. It’s all true, and I don’t regret a moment of it. A
Feb 15, 2013 @ 00:27:52
poor girl who’s mom drank and then affected the rest of her life
kooky kinesthetics
Feb 24, 2013 @ 15:37:29
Yeah, and it was MY mom… but if that all had not happened, I might be some boring person today instead of my bipolar effervescent self, wink.
Feb 15, 2013 @ 01:01:20
This poem was painful to read because It was filled with real emotion and sympathy. Yes, we can see where you’re coming from, and why you’re such a vivid, creative person.
Feb 24, 2013 @ 15:40:40
Thanks so much for your understanding, as always, Viv. It was indeed painful to write, but when it was done, I felt better. Purged? Amy
Feb 15, 2013 @ 02:21:28
…quite disturbing… and what pain to dig from where you held all of these…
smiles…
Feb 24, 2013 @ 15:48:43
Kelvin, welcome. My blog is filled with this stuff… check out tags for alcoholics, Iowa… it gets even darker with my dad; that would be “sexual abuse.” Thanks for taking the sting and still commenting. Peace, Amy
Feb 15, 2013 @ 02:34:54
Exceptionally well written , Amy .. .in that way only you can. Thank you for sharing this story. love and hugs!
Feb 24, 2013 @ 15:52:11
Debbie, as always, xoxoxoxoxo! Amy
Feb 15, 2013 @ 04:32:12
Fantastic poem Amy. An insight into the workings of the human mind. How to be grown up at 8 years old. OMG.
Feb 24, 2013 @ 15:53:13
Oh yeah, Tiger. My mom used to say that I was born 40 and working my way backwards! But it was a bit odd, I suppose…! All fodder for the pencil now. Thanks for stopping! Amy
Feb 15, 2013 @ 04:55:41
amazing poem and post — I wish I had more words, better words to let you know how much this glimpse, this sharing, meant to me. You are an exceptional writer and poet
Feb 24, 2013 @ 15:57:33
Oh my goodness, I’m blushing! I will come check out your writing now. So glad you stopped by and took the time to comment so positively, a real boost on this grey Sunday! Peace, Amy
Mar 01, 2013 @ 16:37:20
DEAR EVERYONE ELSE WHO COMMENTS AFTER THIS:
Thanks so much – I’m going to visit your site instead of commenting. I figure that’s the better compliment.
One word on Charlotte – I love her still. She’s my mom, my DNA, my Irish side. If she had not been a drinker and smoker, I might have been, You know? And all those stories will eventually become a memoir anyway, if I ever get off my butt and type up scribblings!! LOVE AND PEACE TO YOU ALL… SEE YOU AT YOUR SITES! Amy
Feb 15, 2013 @ 05:47:28
wow.
Feb 15, 2013 @ 06:49:37
Such a well written poem, your mom’s story, so like many others as well as so many children who take on the role of parent under such circumstances. Beautiful write.
Feb 15, 2013 @ 11:24:03
oh heck…this is surely not easy…really well told story and i like how senstively you weave the emotions in this one without judging her.. it surely shaped you and made you the person you are but it sounds really tough as well
Feb 15, 2013 @ 13:36:32
What an honest look at your life. It really must have been hard, but lucky for her to have such a great kid.
Feb 15, 2013 @ 13:45:11
Amy, not sure how you handled this all at once, but sure happy that you did. Very impressed how you tell this with love, it takes a strong hearted person to forgive as you did. But then, that’s one of the things that’s always impressed me about you–strong heart, sharp pencil and honest soul. Brings me back every time
Love
-Sara v
Feb 15, 2013 @ 16:59:07
Every tool you employ adds a bit of shine to a piece whose soul is already brighter than bright. This character study offers an unobstructed-by-judgement-or-regret look at a woman with layers and demons and a ferocious will. Wonderful, as I have come to expect from your sharp little pencil.
http://www.kimnelsonwrites.com/2013/02/15/screaming-in-the-backyard-2/
Feb 15, 2013 @ 18:07:42
hard, for sure. this a wonderful poem. I felt the mystery of your questions, and also a certain acceptance of how things were. thank you.
Feb 15, 2013 @ 21:06:47
I so relate. My mother confided things to me that I wish she had not but apparently, telling dad, would have been pointless. Now after all these years I see why but still…I wish she would have had more than the one close friend down the street. Good write, Amy.
Feb 18, 2013 @ 07:06:32
This would have rung a bell for my father.
Feb 18, 2013 @ 14:55:46
So much for a young child to process and bear. Yes, it has made you who you are, but I wish there could have been a kinder, gentler way for you to arrive at this point. I love you for your accepting heart. Somehow you’ve managed to put things into adult perspective and that takes an incredible amount of love!
Feb 18, 2013 @ 23:59:34
Wow Amy, this is just so heart-wrenching and I feel for all here. Different situations but all painful. I wonder what your grandmother had to endure to have ended up the way she did. This is the stuff that makes us strong but it is way too much for little girls to bear. It breaks my heart to think of those little girls. God bless you Amy.
Feb 19, 2013 @ 10:09:48
that is a hard role no child should have to parent the mother.