Susan, left, with sister Carrie
In the morning
We never found it.
We crawled on the floor
Seeking
The little green bug
Tucked into a drawer
For safekeeping
The night before.
Tear stains
On that little face
So sad, so white
Framed in
Silky, smooth hair
So black.
Susan was angry, indignant…
“He stomped on my babies.”
I hope he brought them to HIS mother.
She was angry, indignant..
A pocketful of roaches
Shown off to
A bigger boy
And lost
To innocence.
Susan and her donkey Rogie. (As an adult, Susan enjoys larger creatures.)
A collection of bugs
Carefully pinned
To the inside cover
Of a shoe box
Desperate buzzing of treasures
Held captive who gnaw through
My very best scarf.
(Goodbye nice scarf…)
Susan on Hummer — and even larger.
View from Over the Hill 
I remember that June beetle that chewed through your scarf! It was one of these:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ten-lined_June_beetle
Thanks for writing about me, Maughm. I love the poem — but not as much as I love YOU! Sorry about the scarf…
Actually, I enjoyed those times although it was painful to see you cry whenever some living little treasure of yours gave up the ghost. I never did care about the scarf. It was just a thing. I love you too. Maughm
A scarf is a small price to pay considering the living things Susan has nurtured over the years.
Aw, thanks, baby bruddah!
Yes, I remember the worms, the lizard, the horned toad, the snakes, etc., etc., etc. It was certainly interesting, wasn’t it?
They did get bigger…culminating in Ranger!
They shore did!!!
Morning, Muriel. Where were you living when the photo of Susan and the donkey was taken?
That was taken at Susan/Michael’s home up in the mountains of Nevada where they live with all their animals. Thanks for reading. Raising Susan was a real adventure. Stay well.
Actually, that was when we were still in Redding, CA, before we moved to Reno.
I stand corrected.
Strange how differently we look at life once we “become” adults. I’ve been returning to this poem of yours repeatedly and enjoying its beauty.
For me, Bespoke Traveler, some things are seen differently but some are not. As the child my mother wrote that poem about, I did indeed see cockroaches as potential pets. Now they creep me out — blech! What hasn’t changed is my visceral drive to help when animals are in need, though I usually confine those impulses to the furred and feathered these days. Not always, though, as I have been known to move earthworms off the sidewalk and scoop tadpoles out of our pool and relocate them to a natural pond (they would get born in the puddles on top of the pool cover in the spring before the pool was re-opened and chlorinated each year). Things like roaches and the scorpions where we live now, however, get stomped!
Hahaha. I’m so happy to hear that the love you bore for our fellow creatures as a child has blossomed into an enduring thoughtfulness for them (except for roaches and scorpions). And I imagine so much of that is because your mother nurtured your early kindness for them. Wishing you well.
Thank you so much Bespoke Traveler: I am so glad you enjoyed it. I see that Susan, herself, sent you a message here. That was nice of her. I’m going bonkers with a brand new computer, so I hope you get this response. Muriel
Thank you Susan for responding to Bespoke Traveler: I’ve been busy losing my mind trying to cope with my brand new computer. Love ya, Maughm
Lovely 🙂
My memory says my children were certainly interesting. To me, they were special. Ha, ha. I suppose every mother feels that way. Stay well, regards, Muriel