It started out simply, a game
of little questions as she ironed
a stack of laundry in the afternoons
while I colored pictures at the table
and rain drew circles on the windows—
What would happen if you went to school
and discovered you’d left your lunch
and had no money in your pocket? or,
What would you do if you came home
and the doors were locked, and no
one was here? I don’t remember when
the hypothetical problems became
more difficult to ponder, or if my mother,
pausing in the rhythm of her labors,
considered the metaphysics of these
further tests. Next, she asked questions
that seemed to be about other persons,
say, the neighbors next door: What
do you think would happen if one day,
you woke up to find your parents
had died? I’m sure it was only
to prepare me for the difficult
uncertainties of life, to begin
to teach my mind to cultivate
the detachment which comes
of acknowledging what it can’t
ever control. I can’t remember
if my dreams were suddenly
clouded with locusts and plagues,
if blood bubbled upon the waters;
or if I ever saw in them the angel
of death waving a sprig of rosemary,
walking on the grass and passing
beneath the trees which trembled
slightly, even those whose leaves
were toughened by a long summer.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
“You cannot control the wind, but you can adjust your sails” <3
Love you ma. <3
We shall shelter alee <3