This is the song I’ve been trying to write about my mother, myself, and my daughter for a while now. Ten years ago, my favorite aunt and uncle, independently of each other, both confessed to me during holiday phone calls that my mother had been verbally and physically abused by her father. I always knew that my mother was “the black sheep” among her parents’ 11 children, so I was not surprised to hear this confession. I have performed this and have yet to record it. Remember as you read it, that my mother is Long Ago, I am Yesterday, and my daughter is Today. I am also the Supergirl who soared from rock to rock in the field behind the house we lived in when I was a young girl.
In the Backyard of Yesterday’s Dreams
In the backyard of Yesterday’s dreams,
Knowing she’s powerful and could never die,
Supergirl soars from one rock to another
Thinking “I can do anything and I can fly”,
And she’s just a little child.
Long-Ago Child cried at others’ pain,
Spoke out loud about things unseen,
A loud voice and a hard hand
Silenced the wondering and dammed in the dream,
Yet she’s just a little child.
Long-Ago Mother falls from a broken tree.
Long-Ago Mother speaks in kisses and screams.
Yet Yesterday’s Child finally gets to be free
for Long-Ago Mother fosters Yesterday’s dreams,
For she’s just a little child.
My visions take me to worlds in the stars.
My arms carry me as a winged lioness.
My voice commands both villains and victors.
I can do anything and I can fly, I can fly, I can fly…
And I’m just a little child, who is becoming a mother.
My breast a soft pillow under her head–
Poetry of the heart is a gentle beat.
For my own baby, no hurt, no dread.
Poetry of the heart is a smile so sweet,
For she’s just a little child.
Today’s Child has justified visions,
Speaks of healing the scratches from screams.
A soft voice and a tender touch
Welcomes her wondering and delights in her dreams,
For she’s just a little child.
In the backyard of Yesterday’s dreams,
Knowing she’s powerful and could never die,
Supergirl soars from one rock to another,
Thinking, “I can do anything and I can fly.”
And she’s just a little child.
The Muses of Happiness 