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Her Early Morning Ritual

by Maureen Glaude

in the haze of hot August mornings
in those early years
my mother always woke up first
and left the green-gabled cottage
rich with the scent and sounds
of the metal percolator making the coffee
and a bit of raw bacon fat put aside
for me to take down to the rock
to still-fish with (though it never worked)
when I arose

before six in the morning
she gently closed the screen door
and sneaked down the dirt road
to the beach to skinny-dip

the warblers and the chipmunks
whispers of August breeze
docked boats rocking against shore
serenaded their welcome, as she dropped
her rose-flowered cover-up
onto the sand, and mounted the floating raft
to dive into the river

dipping, rolling, lolling
her own smooth curves and inlets
under the silken sheets
of dawn water
before the beach came to human life
with the clatter of children and pails
neighboring holidayers and boating parties

in the later years
my mother didn’t like the swimming
the weeds grown rampant in the river water
and hungry
to wrap around her legs

in the later years
plagued with back troubles
she couldn't tolerate
the over-soft mattress there
and gave up coming with us
to the rented summer cottage

but in those early years
my mother always woke up first
every sun-gold morning
to revel in dawn water


Author's Note: Her Morning Delight revised, with advice from my friend Bruce Niedt on here. Thanks Bruce. Still a work-in-progress. Comparisons to the original and comments, and/or further suggestions, are welcome.

Posted on 03/21/2004
Copyright © 2021 Maureen Glaude

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 03/21/04 at 10:04 PM

Fine tribute to a golden person and golden times, but also well balanced in its expression of the trials of aging, or as as Irving Layton once put it, "the incredible lousiness of growing old."

Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 03/24/04 at 11:56 AM

Nostalgic, wonderful memory, brings a smile of pleasure and my own memories.

Posted by Jeanne Marie Hoffman on 03/24/04 at 01:09 PM

This poem not only shares a piece of her life, but also a piece of her character

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