Little girl, who made thee?
Dear Readers,
I have something special for you this week. Most of the things that appear here are things that I have written, or sometimes poems from the public domain. On rare occasion, I post something that someone else has written, but only with their permission.
I received an e-mail this week from a reader who Googled to my web site. She was searching for the poem, "Little lamb, who made Thee?" She had written a poem that had been rattling around in her head for a long time, and she wanted the title to emulate that phrase.
She mailed a copy of the poem to me. I was so touched by the depth of this poem that I asked for her permission to share it with you. She graciously gave me that permission. Thank you, Sharon.
- The Old Professor
Copyright © Jay D Weaver - July 29, 2004
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Who made me?
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Little girl, who made thee?
I remember a soft gray plastic kitchen table top,
Lined with silver rim;
And red cherries on the wall paper... or was it kitchen curtains?
And I remember wondering, why cherries? Why our kitchen wall?
And I remember spilling milk on the table, set for breakfast, lunch or supper,
And being scolded harshly, it wasn’t the first time, I must learn to be careful.
But this time was one too many,
and I remember the top of the stairs going to the basement…
the stairs where Mornie swiped the neighbour kid with her paw,
and had to go away.
And I remember the wooden spoon, or was it the belt?
I remember both of them, and the fear, and burning stinging pain,
And hating, hating to cry. Hating it more than the sting of punishment.
And I remember in the school… so many things
But now of things on walls: the picture, in the dining room,
La peche.
And wondering why was it there, in this room of my school.
And asking why a hundred times, silently to myself, never ever spoken…
What does it mean? La peche, and why, answer, why, is it there on the wall
In my dining room?
And I do believe I even looked it up. It was somehow a secret,
that large picture daily on the wall, never mentioned, never addressed…
And getting only more bewildered still. La peche… the sin? The fishing?
What did either have to do with sitting down with forty other girls
to eat a proper lunch under our teachers’ eyes?
Sharon Ware
Mississauga, Ontario, Canada
Copyright © Sharon Ware - July 27, 2004
Used by Permission of the author.
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