deepundergroundpoetry.com
Passing through Galveston
Memories of highways,
truckstops and trailer parks,
when I kept you moving, moving,
in those wide-eyed delicate years,
with your trusting blond head,
your bag of dolls, fatherless.
What chance did you ever have?
Misfortune of a teenage mother, me
full of juvenile incompetence,
one shitty boyfriend after another,
food stamps, social workers. I tried,
kid, I tried, while you deserved
swingsets, playdates, dance classes;
you know, decent foundations.
What have I ever given you, except
the skill of packing a bag, the art
of running? Economy of subsisting
on a pack of fettucine noodles for a week?
I keep going back to that Texan café,
during our last cross-country escape,
us two in a cracked vinyl booth,
surrounded by truckers in worn jeans,
as I taught you how to blow bubbles
in your milk glass—the happy puff
of your face over the straw, how the sun
lit up your hair. If only I could pass back
through Galveston, beyond that day,
to rewire your youth, to fix California,
Colorado, our days on the road: no excuse,
that I was just a kid myself. Now I watch you
with your daughters, with your stable life,
your kind and firm ways, natural mothering.
Planted in one spot, flourishing like a flower
in a sunny window, like all my wishes come true.
Beautiful girl, I wonder, how you ever beat my odds.
*Note: This poem also appears in Deuce Coupe 6/11:
http://deucecoupe.wordpress.com/2011/06/19/passing-through-galveston-by-lauren-tivey/
truckstops and trailer parks,
when I kept you moving, moving,
in those wide-eyed delicate years,
with your trusting blond head,
your bag of dolls, fatherless.
What chance did you ever have?
Misfortune of a teenage mother, me
full of juvenile incompetence,
one shitty boyfriend after another,
food stamps, social workers. I tried,
kid, I tried, while you deserved
swingsets, playdates, dance classes;
you know, decent foundations.
What have I ever given you, except
the skill of packing a bag, the art
of running? Economy of subsisting
on a pack of fettucine noodles for a week?
I keep going back to that Texan café,
during our last cross-country escape,
us two in a cracked vinyl booth,
surrounded by truckers in worn jeans,
as I taught you how to blow bubbles
in your milk glass—the happy puff
of your face over the straw, how the sun
lit up your hair. If only I could pass back
through Galveston, beyond that day,
to rewire your youth, to fix California,
Colorado, our days on the road: no excuse,
that I was just a kid myself. Now I watch you
with your daughters, with your stable life,
your kind and firm ways, natural mothering.
Planted in one spot, flourishing like a flower
in a sunny window, like all my wishes come true.
Beautiful girl, I wonder, how you ever beat my odds.
*Note: This poem also appears in Deuce Coupe 6/11:
http://deucecoupe.wordpress.com/2011/06/19/passing-through-galveston-by-lauren-tivey/
Written by
pyrategurrll
(Lauren Tivey)
Published 3rd Apr 2011
| Edited 3rd Oct 2011
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 16
reading list entries 5
comments 24
reads 781
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
Odds beaten
3rd Apr 2011 4:35pm
re: Odds beaten
4th Apr 2011 1:18am
review
3rd Apr 2011 5:01pm
re: review
4th Apr 2011 1:19am
Anonymous
- Edited 15th May 2018 11:36am
3rd Apr 2011 7:36pm
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re: stunning
4th Apr 2011 1:21am
Anonymous
- Edited 17th May 2018 1:37pm
3rd Apr 2011 8:59pm
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re: nice
4th Apr 2011 1:23am
Thank you, for the read and comment~I was aiming for that simplicity. I think truckstops may look the same, all over the world!
Anonymous
- Edited 5th Apr 2021 9:35am
4th Apr 2011 1:19am
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re: This is...
4th Apr 2011 1:24am
Anonymous
- Edited 15th May 2018 11:42pm
4th Apr 2011 11:42am
<< post removed >>
![Anonymous](/images/avatars/_nopicmini.gif)
re: The best policy
Thank you, Jer~a mother's guilt...never goes away (and it wasn't ALL bad, just some tough times). I'm glad the self-pity didn't poke it's head up in the poem though. Tried to keep things simple. I appreciate the read & comment.
wow!
I love this... those flashes of images that popped out in my head were overwhelming... it's definitely touching, a beautiful write and recollection...
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re: wow!
4th Apr 2011 5:11pm
I'm glad the images worked for you. Thank you for the read and comment, wildcherry. :)
Anonymous
- Edited 14th May 2018 11:51pm
4th Apr 2011 6:14pm
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![Anonymous](/images/avatars/_nopicmini.gif)
re: Comment
5th Apr 2011 1:59am
Thank you, Jack. You know, soon after I posted this, I read your poem, "The Armchair Vigilante", and I thought, oh shit~I hope he doesn't read this and think I was ANYTHING like THAT. I'm glad you liked this, then. It's funny, too, that you liked those particular lines, because I wasn't sure about those.
.
When I read a piece like this, all I think at the end is.... damn. I won't be able to think of anything to say about it, it's that perfect. This piece is what a poem should be, and could easily be used to teach others the beauty of poetry. The fourth stanza is my favorite, and the final line was an excellent finish. Red pyrate, ye've done it again.
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re: .
5th Apr 2011 2:03am
I know of what you speak, Mike: so many times, I just don't know what to say about a poem--and teaching poetry & literature is what I do for a living! I'm glad you like this though, and I appreciate the read & kind comments. :)
Passing through Galveston
10th Apr 2011 8:08am
you released something straight from your soul here.... a fleeting glance into what is a very real and very heart wrenching world.
really well written.
really well written.
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re: Passing through Galveston
10th Apr 2011 11:14pm
Thanks, lepperochan! You're right~it came from the soul. Appreciate the read & comment. :)
Your cunning wobble
Your wobble is the last damn straw. You are so self-assured, precise, that
without that wobble, your performance would distract. You're graceful like Fred
Astaire, his wobble made his dancing seem so natural. I wish it worked better on
me. I wish I could read your stuff without thinking about its construction,
about all your crafty bits of business, without my sins of envy. I'm lucky about
Fred Astaire, I'm not a dancer, I get to look and wonder.
Damn. See.
I can't even write a simple note about the story, about how much it moved me.
"to rewire your youth, to fix California, Colorado..."
Well, reading lists are for that.
P.S. My dad was born in Galveston. I still live three blocks off the bay. I was down
there a week ago, not sure why that matters. I liked seeing Galveston in the title,
not sure why that matters either.
1
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re: Your cunning wobble
29th May 2011 11:19am
At this age, Ray, many things wobble, har har. Thank you though~that's an interesting & insightful comparison. Do you know the truckstop? I remember it was on Route 10, on the eastern end, heading out of Galveston. Small world, eh?
Thank you
11th Jun 2011 5:10am
This is such a beautiful poem. Every time I read it I'm left with something different. It's given me so much insight into my own life and I just want to say thank you.
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re: Thank you
17th Jun 2011 11:53am
Hey, thanks for reading it. I'm glad you could draw something useful from it. Cheers.