The Tender Age of Five
But my mother’s tears became
my own, and I began to cry.
Tears rolling onto our red
velvet couch, and mother still
My mother never covered my
thighs because I wore pretty
ironed dresses, ankle socks
and buster brown shoes. . .
Never told mother how cold
my legs were: I never cried
near the gold frame mirror
above the crush velvet couch.
Those legs with ankle socks
I began to kick and dust flew
and I began to sneeze, and still
It was the tube, our radio,
telling listeners about the
explosion at the plant.
The plant was the General Electric
Company. I heard people were dead.
Mother called out, “Lots of people
Mother left in our old red Buick,
and Grandmother entered the living
room, knelt near the red couch. . .
I saw tears in her eye’s too, but
when she was upset, she talked in
Italian. She cried in Italian too.
I believed Grandmother when she
assured me, Daddy was fine. . .
She placed her hands on my leg’s
to stop them from moving, and put
her finger to her lips.
Now I know, she wanted to hear the
Nancy Duci Denofio – all rights reserved @2010