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| "My Mother's Bureau Drawer" won First Prize in Superstition Mountain Scribes' nation-wide 2002 Poetry Contest in March, 2002, and First Prize again in the Poetry Competition of the Arizona Association of American Mothers, Inc. in November, 2002. It then won again, receiving the national 2003 Alice Abel Literature Award, given by American Mothers, Inc. |
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When I was just a little girl of six or seven or eight I got a glimpse of special things, oh, I could hardly wait! Excitement and adventure that caused my heart to soar Were waiting in the confines of my mother's bureau drawer. My mother'd take me in her room, and sit me on the bed, And I would bounce and wiggle, and she would pat my head; Then she would open up the drawer, the one five inches tall And start to take out lovely things. I had to see them all. The stockings made of finest silk, with seams right up the back; The wondrous soft and shimmering slip, the hankies in a stack, Crocheted around by her own hand, in colors or in white. She took out each and every thing and put them in the light; The notes and cards and valentines, and letters by the score; It truly was Aladdin's trove, my mother's bureau drawer. But she would save the best for last, a lowly looking thing; An old egg carton she'd remove, with treasures for a king. She'd open up the top with care befitting jeweled cask, And gently hold each treasure high, equal to the task Of turning macaroni strands, a present from her girl, Into a cherished heirloom, far more priceless than of pearl. The earrings and the necklaces had each their story told; The school ring, the wedding ring of thin and brittle gold; The little pins and bracelets; she'd touch each one, and then She'd close the lid so carefully, put all away again. And with each thing again in place, I'd thrill down to my core At having this adventure through my mother's bureau drawer. Copyright © 1986 Marsha Ward |
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I never knew you, had concern with what went on to end your life until I stood behind the fence atop the hill and saw the stone. Black shield on white, it haunted me, surrounded there by neighboring stones defining where your comrades fell and where you made your final stand. Some called you "braggart", others felt the sun did rise and set in you. I do not know; I only sensed the weight of history this place holds. Surrounded by the nation's cream, the tale-tellers of the West, I breathed pristine Montana air then swallowed hard, and met my bus. Copyright © 1987 Marsha Ward |
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Summer comes without gradual Upward steps of heat. It's here with sudden brassy sky And lengthened day; With sun-baked clay Beneath bare feet; With tan or reddened skin Where falls Sol's ray. Now men deny Dame Nature's cooling way And seek, with cream Or roll or spray To keep sweat in. Summer comes without gradual Upward steps of heat. Copyright © 1986 Marsha Ward |
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When life has got you down And you can't do much but frown For you feel as though you've had an awful muggin'; You haven't got a friend And you're lookin' for the end: It's time for you and God to do the huggin'. You've got to shake despair, Know there's someone who will care, Who can help you in the midst of all your strugglin'. When there's no one you can touch And a pat would mean so much: Then you and God together do the huggin'. Copyright © 1987 Marsha Ward |