Today is my mother's seventieth birthday. I stayed the night in Lexington to get up at six in the morning and sing to her before she left the house to collect her grandchild for the afternoon (after which I went back to bed and woke to the sounds of my niece running around what we still call the music room, even though there hasn't been a piano in there for a decade-plus). We gave her presents with cat motifs, books and a vermilion silk scarf. Tonight my father is taking her to Café St. Petersburg so that she can have a little caviar, to be fancy. Her sister sent flowers in a red glass vase. I have seen more movies from the year in which she was born than I have from my own.
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- 1: To cormorant to samphire to plover
- 2: You're on, music master
- 3: Hope and anger in the ink and on the streets
- 4: Rewriting old excuses, delete the kisses at the end
- 5: In those days, I still believed in the future
- 6: At last she got acquainted with a rambling mad playactor
- 7: That fine girl of mine's on the Georgia Line
- 8: And even if I can't read it right, everything's a message
- 9: I'll do as much for my true love as any young girl may
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