Grace Cavalieri

(1937– )
Dates
The silver from my mother’s mirror gleams its storiestoward a light which drops and never breaks. It says to tell the truth and
permanently shining, brings forth an original day bright as this one where children and other small creatures played without threat
but the child’s story is never without fear—is it—and seems to be made of remainders which either want for love or some relief from it.
In the third grade the pyramids were presented to usby Miss O’Malleyso kind that she would—in honor of learning—give us the key to Egyptif she could. Who would like to bring dates for all to taste?Who can do this on the lunch hour? she asked.Naturally I—who could not imagine how—said I would—and, like a child with enough money to spend, ran home with only one hour, one hour to easemy dear mother who probably hadlittle money in the house, yet who bravely asked “Shouldn’t you buy two packages for the class”I said No.Love and fear divided in my mind betweenan ocean of childrenand my mother’s troubled face,“One package is all I need” I lied, “Someone else will bring the rest”(Children spend so much time persuading—no wonder no one believes them).Eight dates for twenty childrenwhich would taste so sweet—Miss O’Malley, always kind, cut the tiny squaresand I kept interrupting, hoping theywouldn’t notice. After allthere wasn’t water in the land of pyramids . . . wasthere . . . andnot too many trees,probably hungry people and small rations there as well.
That day every one of us was a reflection of the other—the children who ate their portions,the mother at home worrying about her daughter’s gift,the child thinking about her mother’s face,and Miss O’Malley who, kind and earnest, taught us all about a hardy people in an arid land who gave what they had and could give nothing more.
© 1990, Grace Cavalieri, Trenton grateful acknowlegement to Belle Mead Press