It's 5:30 where my mother lives,
and I think she likes to sleep till 7.
I haven't heard her voice in weeks,
time flies when you don't watch it.
Here it's past noon, I need my lunch;
it's 5:30 where my mother lives.
The snow is making the street slushy,
it was wet when I went to buy food.
The building site across the street
is receiving a truckload of concrete.
It's 5:30 where my mother lives,
I wonder how things are in her town.
The sun won't come up for two hours yet;
she is getting old, perhaps she is awake.
Did she stay up reading, as she used to?
It's 5:30 where my mother lives.
all rights reserved
Author notes
I phoned my mom today and we talked for half an hour.
Photo: Pavlivska at Turgenievska street, Kyiv, Margaret I. Gibson
http://allpoetry.com/images/ext/Item/2581/812.jpg?1170426658
In a list
Just a ramble.
Comments
1 - 14 of 14
-
Mothers and daughters....
Thanks for sharing the love...
Be ever blessed and bright,
Rod
-
-
Thank you Rod.
What is homesickness and missing someone, but frustrated affection? Thank goodness for our ability to connect with our loved ones. 
-
-
Very lovely my friend
Dear Sweetpea,
it would be very hard having to move from Country to Country, hard for all the family, leaving loved ones and friends behind, I would imagine too that everything changes while you're gone. People go on with their lives.
Not being near your Mum would be very hard as well.
Mums are very important in our lives, I know how much I miss my Mum since she left, and now I'm a Mum separated by distance from my two daughters.
Your poem is lovely with a touch of sadness and longing to hear from her.
Love Joan
-
-
Thank you Joan. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say. Without the daily distractions, we can see more clearly what we appreciate about people. Communications from home are what keep us connected, but it is all too easy to forget people who are not demanding attention.
Thank you for your compassionate comment.
-
-
Well I can tell you that Turgenievska street was almost certainly named for the great novelist Ivan Turgenev.
This would have fit nicely into that contest I am holding that no one will enter since they expect only clown antics from me. But I'm not bitter.
Enough about me
It's concerns your mother yes, but it's more about you, about your worries, your memories, your missing your mother...your feelings of being a Canuck out of water. Yes, you'll deny that, everyone denies things I plainly see.
You mentioned to me that your writing has suffered recently...I disagree (at least with your last two poems,) this poem is about feelings, about concerns, it's less academic and more humane, more from the gut, there's a simple beauty to these concerns because they remind us that we are indeed human. Do you see how small, seemingly irrelevant details are woven together making the poem more significant than the sum of its parts (excusing the cliché.)
Convinced?
That is a very drab building...rather hollow/desolate huh. I'm sorry.
-
-
Thanks Ima
You are right about the street name - there are several streets here named for literary figures, Gogol, Shevchenko has a boulevard and a lane, Lesia Ukrainka, etc. The picture is a building in process - the architect's concept looks quite nice; perhaps it will be done before we leave.
I don't deny any of your observations about acculturation - this is the expat experience. People think it is wonderful to move to other countries, but it is hard. When you get back, they don't want to hear about your experiences, they call it boasting. There is a lot of loss, as the people you grow close to at one post because you NEED to, move on to others and leave old ties behind.
Thank you for saying nice things about the writing. It is less planned and structured than my usual, but in that it is more immediate and emotive. Thanks.
-
-
The picture is perfect for your poem, the way the sadness seems to spread. Sometimes I find myself thinking of what time it is at my mothers home, and I wonder what she's doing and how she is.
There is a loneliness in this that's very sad, Margaret. Beautifully written, as always. Hugs, Patricia
-
-
Thank you Patricia I'm indulging some sad thoughts and homesickness, some anticipatory grief and a few tears for what was and what might have been. Underlying it all is the confidence that "All manner of thing shall be well."
-
-
this is rife with melancholy and desolation, Margaret, and that forlorn building shot adds to the feeling of being so far away and helpless. The phone doesn't really help either. I'm sorry and can relate, as I am in the exact same position.
-
-
I was thinking that you may be far from your mother too. Such a glamorous life we have in Europe, hm?
-
-
Time you old gypsy man, will you not stay? Put up your caravan just for one day?
That's an excellent photo, and combines very nicely with the verses. Time does fly when you don't watch it, and drags interminably when you do. I sometimes have similar feelings about my Antipodean brother, but since he's the elder one I always reckon he can fend for himself. But a mother: that's very different. Take care, K. -
-
Thank you Keith, I will. After writing my poem, I picked up my camera and aimed it out the window. The views from our apartment lack Kyevan charm.
I wonder if my mother feels about me as you do about your brother. We appear to be brave, but we are only human.
Blessings to you.
-
-
I can't imagine how it feels to miss the people you grew up with, or close friends when you're timezones away from them, since I haven't been in this kind of situation myself. However, the way you put feelings into your words makes it clear to the people who have to guess how it feels - at least, it did for me.
Emotive and beautiful... and I'm in fact wondering what form this is written in?
-
-
Thanks leander. This is free verse inspired by quatern form, that's where the refrain comes from. I have ignored the syllable requirements, and just written what I was thinking.
-
Adding your comment:
1 - 14 of 14
