One of my first poems that I kept....

Dorothy à Deux


I had two Dorothys growing up
How could one girl be so lucky?

I surpassed them both in height when I was 10 years old
The similarities end there

The Dorothy of my father was short, round, feminine
Rarely saw her out of a dress – she looked funny feeding the cats in Grandpa’s pants and rubber boots
Her cookie jar was always full of homemade goodies
She didn’t raise her voice
She didn’t raise a fuss
She spoiled us terribly
She said the rosary every day of her life; she carried a beautiful one in her purse
She relied on the kindness of others for transportation
She didn’t like to make waves

The Dorothy of my mother was short, not quite round, not necessarily feminine
Rarely saw her in a dress – she looked different at weddings and funerals and such
Her cookie jar was always full of store-bought goodies
She’d raise her voice
She’d raise a fuss
She didn’t spoil anyone
She might have said the rosary privately; she didn’t advertise
She drove all over the godforsaken country going where she wanted, when she wanted
And please, don’t criticize her driving, just hold the hell on!
She didn’t care about making waves

I said goodbye to the Dorothy of my father when I was 13, the weekend of my primary school graduation

But I wasn’t alone, the Dorothy of my mother was right there
She was with me, tanning in the backyard, talking about hot men to find at the mall
She took my mind off the pain of the first Dorothy’s passing

Who will take my mind off today?

My father’s Dorothy was the Dorothy of my childhood
My mother’s Dorothy was the Dorothy of my adolescence, adulthood
I needed them both
I still do

One taught me unconditional love, caring for family and animals, kindness, gentleness, Godliness

One taught me self-reliance, confidence, strength, independence, unconditional love, Humanness

Both made me, Me

Dorothy, Dottie,
Dottie, Dorothy,
Me


April 2005
This poem was written when the Dorothy of my mother was dying. I still miss them very much.