Like Her Mother's Mother Use To:

It's February, the third
The breeze shifts
Bringing with it the smell of clams
Salt water and particles of white sand
The Bay stands stretched out wide, low tide at 2:05

A frail woman, graying hair falling limply
Curving her face like a painting would
She's thin, far too
Her hair long, tangled wet in knots
Down from its tips, up to it's roots

Her glassy eyes a light shock of blue
They pale with age, swim with pain
As her smile lines deepen
Her history rings loud
Clear, like the boom of fireworks

Bruises under her eyes
Black and blue finger tips from the endless test strips
She no longer can sleep well
Soft hands, wrinkled with time
If she minds, it doesn't show

Her daughter, twenty-three years old
Home from her office in New York
Combs her hair
Long strokes gentle and firm
Careful not to tug
Still the locks fall, land silently on her mothers bedroom floor
She smiles fondly as mirrors reflection shows bliss
It's the little things that matter
In the end that's what everybody remembers
Or so says her mother's mother, so, so said she,
And now, I

The woman's hand wind together as her eyes fall closed
Her chest, rises then falls
Lips part, body exhales comfortably into the wooden chair
Her daughter leaves, silently
But tucks a blanket up over her mothers ears
Like her mother's mother use to do for her
So, so had she
And now, I


  1. Replies
    1. How ironic it is then that in the very same day I also wrote a poem a friend of my mine called 'the darkest yet'.
      Anyhow, I thank you for you kind words and am glad you enjoyed it.


Post a Comment

Popular Posts