My Mother's Daughter

This is my mother's daughter, walking after midnight
On a dark street, a hot night, alone in New Orleans
Somewhere in the distance I hear a violin
And the hum of a porch light, moths flying at the screen
"Close your eyes," I said, "so I can walk away and not look back"
And if he did or if he didn't, I'll never know
I didn't want to go

This is my mother's daughter on the east Texas backroads
Looking for signs to the Johnson City highway
I don't have a map of Texas, I don't want to ask directions
I make wrong turn after wrong turn, still somehow find my way
"I will miss you," I said, "in ways I won't know until you're gone"
He took me in his arms and held me until I turned away
He made me feel so safe I was afraid I'd lose my edge
And I didn't want to stay

This is my mother's daughter at the San Francisco airport
Holding on to a guitar that's worth a lot of money
Late for my flight and crying like a baby
I stumble down the stairs
and through the crowded hallways running
"I don't know what's right or wrong," I said,
"this is just the way the story goes"
Then I left too quickly, but I guess he understood
Good-bye is just too hard to say, and promises
Are just no good

©2000 Annie Gallup