Sunday, April 18, 2010

On Sunday, April 18, 2010

My mother, among her many outstanding characteristics, is one of the most unpretentious and straightforward people I know. She doesn't beat around the bush--these would probably be her exact words. During a conversation she mentioned that she had met a writer and that maybe I knew her. She then went on to describe the woman, and I quickly surmised that it was the writer and poet, Alice Walker. I was dazzled, of course. Yet my mom was not. It was just a little story she wanted to share with me.


We are nearly done
with our conversation
when my mother says,
oh one more thing.
You might like this story.
I met a writer at church last Sunday.
We were both standing around
drinking coffee and
eating cake doughnuts
in the social hall.
I introduced myself and we got to talking.
I found out she was a writer.
I told her that I had a daughter,
a writer too.
What was her name, Mom?
I can’t remember now,
I asked her about her books.
One had ‘purple’ in the title.
The Color Purple? Was it The Color Purple, Mom?
Yes! Yes that’s it.
Alice Walker? Alice Walker goes to your church?
Well I suppose she does, doesn’t she?
She seemed like
an ordinary woman to me.
She was very nice.
She probably writes very nice books.

--Catherine Fraga

1 comment:

  1. What amazes me is how the "What was her name,Mom" works perfectly--without quotation marks, although it jumps from the interior dialogue of the previous line--how'd you do that??