ABE’S WAY

Many of you reading this probably read it when I posted it on my Facebook site, but there are a few that aren’t on Facebook that might like to see it. Also, I’ll explain how I came to write Abe’s Way.

I am a member of an online writing group, led by the amazing Marjorie Simmins. I have taken several in-person writing workshops from Marjorie and have been involved in the online group for several months now. We have members from Coast to Coast to Coast in Canada. I am by far the weakest writer in the group, but I love being included. Many are accomplished writers, having many published works. But I look at writing the way I looked at playing various sports; you need to compete (although our group is not a competition in any way) against more skilled people to improve. If you only compete against people of the same caliber or weaker, then you will never improve. To be surrounded by so many outstanding writers, I can only learn more and improve myself.

We meet once every 4 weeks, online, for 2.5 hours. We are given a prompt, idea, suggestion, to work on, but we are not compelled to write about the idea if it doesn’t speak to us. For several weeks nothing spoke to me. My mind was too busy with the current state of affairs of our world. I could not settle it enough to compile anything. And the harder I tried, the more frustrated I became.

On March 5th we were given three prompts, which we could choose to write about, or not write about if we had something else in mind. They were interesting prompts and I settled on “the old man walked down the country lane carrying a suitcase and an empty birdcage.” I thought about it Saturday, after our class, and into Sunday. As Marjorie says, my mind was ‘percolating’. On Sunday evening I curled up on the couch, under my favourite blanket, with a pencil and paper in hand and started to scribble. I knew the old man would have to meet people on his walk, but who. I first thought he would meet a young child, and then the lightbulb came on. I would have him meet himself as a young child, and then as a young adult in the military, and this he’d meet his family. When he grew tired, he would stop to rest and open up the suitcase. But the birdcage, what would I do about that. As I scribbled, ideas popped into my head, and just flowed out through my pencil. He was reflecting on his life, he family, his wife Mary and the wee daughter who died young. Oh my gosh, I was getting attached to Abe and he honestly caused me to become emotional. I tried to tell my Mom about what I was writing and became choked up. I know, crazy. Anyway, I scribbled for about 10 minutes and had the gist of the poem set. On Monday evening I spent about 2 hours reworking it, adding to it, taking some stuff out, until the following became the finished product.

Abe’s Way

As Abe began his journey

Along the lush and brilliant lane

He clutched a birdcage and a suitcase 

But he left behind his cane.

He shuffled along in slippers

His memories growing dim

His eyes were tired and teary

His dentures were not in.

He soon met a young lad running

With hair like Abe’s so fair

A bat, with glove dangling from it

A ball he tossed in the air.

“Hey there boy. Where are you going?”

He called out to the lad

But he didn’t hear the old man’s voice

To the field he ran like mad.

Abe’s memory started to come back

How he ran the bases four

As homer after homer he hit

That ball he could make soar.

He carried on along the road

The road to who knows where

When to his delight he saw a man

A man, he knew, did care.

As the distance started to diminish

Abe saw the young man’s dress

His uniform pressed so precise

With medals on his chest.

He carefully placed his belongings

Upon the lush and soft green grass 

Abe stood up tall and so erect

As he saluted, with military class.

Much to Abe’s surprise again

The serviceman marched on by

To fight the enemy and keep us safe

Until peace was restored on high.

He picked up his possessions

As he scuffed along the lane

Up the steep hill he did climb

His breathing causing strain.

And then he saw a beautiful lady

Someone he thought he knew

He called out ‘Mary, there you are’

But she just walked on through.

Trailing her were four young children

A boy and three girls of blond

Just like his own so long ago

Before young Annie was gone.

This journey made him grow so tired

A bench he stopped to rest

He opened up his old valise

To see what he had left.

He pulled out an old ball glove

Tarnished medals and a beret

A family portrait torn and tattered

His family. Where are they?

He touched the face of little Annie

Her blond curls were so dear

A tear rolled down his weathered face

He knew his time was near.

A nurse came to his room at eight

His needs she would have tended

But he had passed away that night

His journey now had ended. 

She noticed one lone tear he shed

His cheek showed a faint stain

But a smile slight she could detect

He was no longer in pain.

They opened up his suitcase

“What’s in it?” said the staff

And there they found his dentures

Abe gave them a final laugh.

He never liked to wear them

They never seemed to fit

He hid them daily on the crew

Always trying to outwit.

The empty bird cage is a mystery

Whatever could it mean

Underneath they found a letter

He wanted it to be seen.

Set your goals with enthusiasm

Live your life, be free

See, and do, all that you want

Soar high above the sea,

Don’t cage your dreams and close the door

And not experience life’s beauty

Go forth, and spread your wings so wide

Abe says that is your duty.

~Hughena MacDougall (March 2022)

So there you have it. The bird cage contained a message. A week or so after I wrote this, I went back to re-read it. I have no clue where any of this came from. I don’t remember thinking much about writing it, as it just came out. I guess the thinking was in the ‘percolation’ period, as the words moved and filtered in my brain. I have no idea where the name Abe came from, as it just appeared on the paper. And I had no clue how I was going to work the bird cage in until I got to the very end. After the struggles I had for the previous weeks, I’m surprised that it really didn’t take a lot of effort to write this. I don’t believe I have ever written a poem that wasn’t fact based and this is anything but. This is total fiction. It’s all very perplexing to me, but I’m pleased with the end result.

I hope you enjoyed reading the poem and the process to how it came to be. Please leave a comment if you liked it, if you didn’t like it, or if you’d like to see more of my poems.