Next to her silks petticoats
my mother’s brown stocking lay there
on the bed: on the iron board was her
Crispy iron Sunday dress,
on the dresser was her favorite perfume
and talcum powder. And this meant only thing
it was Sunday morning service:
This morning I remember her routine,
I never got into the habit of the military habits
My free will soul would never allow it:
I remember passing the Police exams
As I was about to go for my training
My mother discourage me from going
She based it all on my small petite figure
Her exact words: you think you can fight
Off those big men: Those criminals out there
In the big streets.. I never got to prove her wrong
So, I turn down the police academy recruit training:
And trade in a trip to South America in nineteen eighty three:
I remember that last night before I got on America Airline
My last old year’s night party at the Hilton Hotel,
The loud music, the co-workers, and there I was with
Mixed emotions of being Happy and Sad:
I wish they had a word for being happy and sad
at the same time because that's what I feel every time I was with him:
my other true love< E.B
I still have that **** gold and black spaghetti straps dress
I wore that night, each time I fallen back
To my old habits.. I would take it out and take
One more look at it…and whisper my past
And ask myself why I am holding on to this
Dress for so long: we didn’t had the internet or the Bajan tube
To look back on: but by seeing that dress. I saw the younger me
With vivid moments of happiness, and bad decisions:
Today I lay here in my bed with my memories
As I divided them in happiness and sadness sections
Have I proceed with my plans in law enforcement
Would I be alive today to write this poem
Have I not attended the office party
Would the scars of that night still frets me
At each place, in time some of us stop
To picked a rose, or even smell a rose
That why I love this quote:
*Antoine de Saint-Exupéry: ‘It is the time you have wasted for
your rose that makes your rose so important.’, Anne B...*
because, it have seem like I have made some loser that was in my life seem important:
Did I do it for him or for me? Now that is the question..
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 9:37 AM UTC
Next to her silks petticoats
my mother’s brown stocking lay there
on the bed: on the iron board was her
Crispy iron Sunday dress,
on the dresser was her favorite perfume
and talcum powder. And this meant only thing
it was Sunday morning service:
This morning I remember her routine,
I never got into the habit of the military habits
My free will soul would never allow it:
I remember passing the Police exams
As I was about to go for my training
My mother discourage me from going
She based it all on my small petite figure
Her exact words: you think you can fight
Off those big men: Those criminals out there
In the big streets.. I never got to prove her wrong
So, I turn down the police academy recruit training:
And trade in a trip to South America in nineteen eighty three:
I remember that last night before I got on America Airline
My last old year’s night party at the Hilton Hotel,
The loud music, the co-workers, and there I was with
Mixed emotions of being Happy and Sad:
I wish they had a word for being happy and sad
at the same time because that's what I feel every time I was with him:
my other true love< E.B
I still have that **** gold and black spaghetti straps dress
I wore that night, each time I fallen back
To my old habits.. I would take it out and take
One more look at it…and whisper my past
And ask myself why I am holding on to this
Dress for so long: we didn’t had the internet or the Bajan tube
To look back on: but by seeing that dress. I saw the younger me
With vivid moments of happiness, and bad decisions:
Today I lay here in my bed with my memories
As I divided them in happiness and sadness sections
Have I proceed with my plans in law enforcement
Would I be alive today to write this poem
Have I not attended the office party
Would the scars of that night still frets me
At each place, in time some of us stop
To picked a rose, or even smell a rose
That why I love this quote:
*Antoine de Saint-Exupéry: ‘It is the time you have wasted for
your rose that makes your rose so important.’, Anne B...*
because, it have seem like I have made some loser that was in my life seem important:
Did I do it for him or for me? Now that is the question..
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