Voices on the Wind
Voices from Home
by Kathy Cotton
For the first time since Mother’s death
a dozen years ago, her five children gather,
spend a day sorting family photos,
piecing together odd scraps of our lives
in the little house on 62nd Street—
now one more burned-out, abandoned lot
in the hometown that was an All-American City
for the eldest of us; a place of racial unrest
and white-flight decay for the youngest.
Along the two-decade continuum of our births,
some lived a driveway’s width
from Grandma and Grandpa
and the constant company of relatives.
Others remember only the empty lot
of their demolished house,
no trace of Grace and George.
But we find our order most defined by how
we remember Mother:
Mother, kind and nurturing.
Mother, deathbed ill.
The thread of her life stitches us together,