Anna Pauline McAnally Couch
(15 February 1925—13 June 1983)
The day after red and white
And pink
It is the ides of February
My mother’s birthday
Pauline was born in 1925,
Died in 1983
Only in her fifties
Such is the ravaging of cancer
I wish she’d had a better life
She was a singer
I wish she could have sung more
A manager, I wish she could have
Run things more her way
I wish she’d had a partnership
Rather than passive and aggressive,
Which she enabled
And then both of them
Passed it on to me
Before the term
Before its time
I don’t remember the real name now
But she knew Doris Day
Before she was Day
My mother was a Southerner
But had no trace of accent
I’m not sure why
Except maybe it was cultured, then
Not to give away
The humble origins
And hers were humble
To the point of terrible
Orphaned of her father
Let go by her mother
Saved by Methodists somehow
I have the picturesque baptism paper
Moved or was moved
From small-town Tennessee to Cincinnati
Set in two states
(for all intents and purposes),
Both sides of the river
I was her middle child
Maybe it’s fair or at least
Mathematical that I should do
Some chronicling
On her behalf
On this, what would be
What is
Her ninety-fifth birthday
Born in Shelbyville, Tennessee
Died in Cincinnati, Ohio
Lives in heaven
C L Couch
Photo by Gary Bendig on Unsplash
she liked rabbits
clcouch123 
February 15, 2020 at 3:57 pm
What a lovely tribute. You didn’t have her long enough. It would have been my dad’s birthday on Tuesday. He died twenty seven years ago and I think about him every day. I wish my children could have known him, which is what my mother used to say about her father. Loss and regret, runs in families.
February 15, 2020 at 10:44 pm
Thank you. She died young, like your father. Loss is hard, and when it’s for someone never known (like your children to their grandfather) it’s a frustrating difficulty. You, especially you, can tell them stories.
February 16, 2020 at 8:41 am
My dad wasn’t young when he died (79), he was twenty years older than my mother. She only outlived him by ten years. I didn’t know either of them long enough. My youngest didn’t know any of her grandparents. Telling stories is all we can do, but the stories don’t mean much unless you have an idea of the person. I have a small box of ‘souvenirs’ all that I have of parents, grandparents and my childhood and I have to get all the children together and explain what each of the things is, the story behind it. Otherwise it’s just a load of meaningless junk.
February 16, 2020 at 6:53 pm
You’re right, of course–there’s nothing like the real person. And having him or her tell stories is grand; then we have the person and the lore. So your mother died rather young, it seems to me. Yeah, I don’t know how to make literal objects meaningful to another generation, even in a family. I have the ballet shoes my sister wore when a child and my grandfather’s beanie from college. Could I make younger people (any people) share the significance? Most likely not.
February 17, 2020 at 2:01 pm
A nice poem about your mother. It sounds as if her life was troubled. So sad her life ended early with the dreaded disease of cancer. Sometimes we pass traits onto our children when that is the last thing we wish to do.
February 17, 2020 at 5:46 pm
Thank you. I think she had dreams that were never realized, and then there was the cancer. I hope she had some good times and feelings along the way. Yes, I guess traits are passed on. I also got my mother’s managerial talent for which I’m thankful.
I hope your week is off to a pleasant start!
February 17, 2020 at 7:12 pm
No matter what a Mother does – She will always be our Mother and we will always love her no matter what. The week has started nicely, I hope your week is the same.