All That Shines by Ellen Hagan

Author:Ellen Hagan
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781547610228
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2023-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

Alone Again

I remember this feeling too.

The being left behind.

The loneliness.

Saying good night to them

before another benefit

or gala or work event.

The busyness, filling our time,

the never enough, racing up,

the accumulating, the spending.

We could never have enough.

Dad swore the more we had

the easier it would be.

And it was. But the excess

meant too much work, meant

stress, anxiety, sleepless nights.

They fought over my life,

school choices, activities,

summer camps, extracurriculars.

I was meant to help make them

accomplished, proud, poised.

Felt that same pressure for perfection.

So I crammed, I studied, I styled,

I shopped, I craved, I wanted,

I bought, I consumed, I needed.

The more we made, the more we spent,

the more we spent, the more we made,

the more we made, the more we spent.

A cycle we couldn’t get enough of.

Run ragged by. One I am still trying

to get away from.

Try to Remember

All the good.

Laughter late at night

around the kitchen table,

hearing stories, watching

the way he loved Mom,

her voice, her style, the way

she could put anyone at ease.

“Sing for us,” Dad would say,

and I would. Unafraid, bold.

“Play for us. Perform. Read us

your new lyrics. What do you dream

about in this life?” he would ask.

Such a miracle to be asked to dream

and then given all the gifts to just

make it happen. I see that now.

Showcase. Show off. Stunt. Spectacle.

A whole life dedicated to the stage,

the performance, the presentation.

Watch what I can do. That’s the way

Mom lived too. Pageant. Parade. Ornate.

The way she’d flaunt, flash, flourish for all.

What do we do now that no one is watching?

Without all the grandstanding? Nothing to boast

or brag about? It’s just us.

How will we live now?

Mom Comes Back

“I had to get these out of storage,”

she says. “Figured it was important

enough for you to see.”

And her arms are loaded

with photo albums, letters,

and what look like journals

full of cursive handwriting

that I’ve never seen before.

She spreads them over the floor,

opens each book to photos

of her as a baby right here,

pulling tomatoes off the vine

and digging her toes in dirt.

Big group shots at the same

picnic tables that’re outside.

Watermelon and fried catfish,

faces smiling wide, gleaming

heads thrown back laughing.

Lana Brooks at fifteen and eighteen.

Looking like she knows all.

Posing, playing, showing off.

Happy to be here, not trying

to be anything else at all.

Portraits of Mom

Each photo, the smiles are wider than the next.

In one, her hair is wild around her face, no front teeth,

standing on the swing, holding the chains

and about to take off into the sky.

Then with her mom and dad at the picnic table.

Feast spread out before them. Fried chicken,

collards, plate full of biscuits. Energy around them,

kids everywhere. Mom holding a sparkler in her hand,

the sun setting behind them. Grass manicured,

grounds kept clean and fresh.

In every picture, the apartments behind her

are freshly painted, the trim neat and polished.

Granny and Papaw holding her up as a baby

and then arms holding on to her as a kid.

All of them crowded around family and friends.

Limestone Apartments was clearly the place to be.

There she is again. All grown up.

Riding a horse and laughing. Full of energy,

fire, and grit. Cutoff jeans frayed and loose.

Torn T-shirt. Hair thrown up in a messy knot.

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