Keep journeying well, Mrs. Daniel.
I was blessed to be loved
By someone as wonderful as you.
Yes mam, your daughter is still ‘forever singing those radio songs.‘ And you were right, she still ‘can’t sing.’ Tried with your favourite hymn this morning but crying is what happened. Happy you saw that poem in your lifetime and appreciated it. Posting it here in loving remembrance of you and with thanks for the life you gave me.
Yhan with the rare ruby eyes
And enviable Mediterranean complexion
Was there, valedictorian seated
At the centre of attention.
Her parents, Dr. Sayers and his wife,
Dr. Sayers, were proudly presented.
Graduation day, a parade of distinctions
In the halls of academe. Cute-named
Heroine of our aspirations, Yhan
Had no ideas in class, she had no idea
What a pit latrine was.
Cocktails later, when dignitaries were served,
And crumb-filled trays came to our corner,
Parents exchanged pleasantries, pouring
Praised on Drs Sayers; a fine specimen, Yhan,
She’d follow the physicians’ footsteps, naturally.
Cultured patrons, dexterous in the art of
Social chatter, they tilted to our rustic lot
For balance, calling Mr. Brown our neighbour
First to the stand. What d0you want your girl
To be? She wants to be an air hostess.
Benefactors roared, because a maid by any name
Was still a maid, someone had interjected,
Even Mr. Brown tittered. I waited for the
Moment of mockery, when the pot-bellied lady
Wearing a wig to crown her coarseness would
Give the blueprint for her daughter’s future.
What do you want for your girl ma’am
They asked my mother. As I held my breath
And stretched my chest to make room
For the shame, I heard mama say,
I’ve always wanted her to be – strong.