NaPoWriMo 28

Poem for My Mother

After they scooped you out
and took your eggs, I sat
next to your hospital bed
not knowing what to say.
At 16, what did I care
of caring, drifting amid your
aches and needs? How do I
hold your branch of a hand?
Even with the body’s bowing
you kept us going, made every meal,
washed every stitch of clothing
as you healed in silence.

Years later, as I walk
the morning halls of my house,
watch my babies sleep
while my eggs continue
to fall and break,
I think about your unrecorded,
unrequited moments
of bending, not breaking,
watching the day being again
with little more than this poem,
and the long steady syllables
that flow down and out of my hand
like blood.


chiefbiscuit said…
I'm sure this poem does much to redress any lack your 16 year old self exhibited; as all 16 year olds do - just because ... they're 16! Mothers are wonderful people - and now you're one!
Jan Doble said…
you capture for me, what i exhibited when my mother went through something similar; and i tried, but of course, as a teen, was more caught up in my own life...

i have personally gone through the same scenario and understand in some way my own children's 'trying' to empathize but not really being able to.

your last line speaks volumes: 'watching the day begin again with little more than this poem,k and the long steady syllables that flow down and out of my hand like blood.' wow--that's powerful!
Jan Doble said…
you show strong empathy for your mother here...and it seems to me, in your last line, a sense of 'guilt', as well...? i just want to say, ahh, don't feel too's all ok!
Anonymous said…
amazing images in this one! i don't know if it was inspired by the lady stepping on eggs at the reading you attended but if it was, you should stalk her performances. :)
RachelW said…
This one gave me the shivers!
January said…
Thanks Rachel. Thanks everyone!

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