I Watched My Mother

Anne Baker remembers her mother from her home in Oxford, Mississippi.

I sat on our front steps and watched a little hummingbird take nectar from my mother's hollyhocks, until it was filled and sped away. I wished I was a little hummingbird.

I went inside and watched my mother make a chocolate cake. She let me lick the pans. I wished I could make a cake.

I watched my mother scrub our clothes on a washboard. She used a bar of lye soap. She let me put my hands in the rinse water and stir the clothes. I wished I could scrub clothes.

I watched my mother sweep the floors and make the beds. She let me help straighten the covers. I wished I could make beds and sweep floors.

I watched my mother make me a pink and white gingham dress. She cut out a doll dress for me. I wished I could sew on her peddle machine.

I watched my mother wash her long hair and sit outside on a big, flat rock in the sunshine. While it dried, she picked out walnuts for a cake. I wished I had long shiny hair like my mother's.

I went down in the basement and saw a little trapped hummingbird trying to get out through a window. Excited, I cried, "Oh, Mother, come quick." And my busy mother came to see what was the matter with me.

I watched my mother grow old and leave me. I wish they could come back, my mother and the little hummingbird.