Mom at 36

While she talks on the phone,
her blue pen seems to have
a life of its own,
makes abstract flowers
& filigree
& Gordian knots
all around the list of birds seen
on her morning walk.
I watch fascinated
as I eat my allotted three
fresh peanut-butter cookies,
each bearing the print of a fork’s
uncomplicated foot.

7 Comments


    1. Thank you. I’ve been trying to remember to add all such posts to the Memoir category, both so readers will know they’re nonfiction, and also so I can re-find them easily, perhaps someday for an actual memoir-type thing.

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  1. Actually, poems like this rekindle my faith in humanity, and the power of simple things.

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    1. I’m glad. Yesterday was Via Negativa’s birthday, which I didn’t feel like commemorating particularly — but I think that’s what got me ruminating on the past.

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    1. Thanks! It’s so interesting to think about one’s parents when they were younger than one is now (ten years younger, in this case).

      Reply

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