To Mama, About Your Childhood Home

Elizabeth N. Flores

April 23, 2023

I drove by where you lived when you were six.

You’re no longer with us, 

having passed away three years short of 100. 

I wonder what you would say 

if you could see where you lived in 1930.

Would you be sad that the house is no longer there?

Would you have no memory of it at all? 

Or would you recall in great detail the kitchen, 

which you always told me is 

the center of the universe in all homes?

Maybe you would not talk about the house, 

its color or location, whether it was drafty or warm, 

or if trees in the front yard lost branches during storms.

Maybe you would focus more on who lived in the house, 

and repeat those endearing childhood memories 

you shared with me over the years, 

even more often when you reached your ‘90’s.

Your mama sitting at the foot of her bed,  

rubbing her dry hands with a special lotion, 

and placing drops on your hands 

so you could feel that comfort. 

Sitting on your daddy’s lap as he shared with you 

two teaspoons of his coffee at the start of supper.  

Family who lived in other houses 

in the neighborhood who came over 

to eat at Thanksgiving 

and Christmas and Easter. 

And more distant relatives

who stopped by for short visits 

when they finished their business 

in town before returning to their farms. 

Would you have something to say 

about what stands there now, 

a ramp to the expressway, 

and the daily noise of high-speed cars?

Would you ask me why I drove by 

what used to be your house when you were six, 

and tell me that surely I’m busy,

and don’t I have more important things to do?

Elizabeth N. Flores, Professor Emeritus of Political Science, taught for 46 years at Del Mar College and was the college’s first Mexican American Studies Program Coordinator. Her poems have appeared in Corpus Christi Writers 2022, an anthology edited by William Mays, and the Mays Publishing Literary Magazine.