M is for Mother
She sits quietly, staring diligently at the television,
as she watches Shelley slap Paul for sleeping with Deidre,
or smiling when Ken blackmails Joyce after he discovers
the DNA test results that prove that Samuel is Raven's real father.
She watches this serial every day, every day, whether the leaves
outside are turning plum or tangerine, or if the snow cascades
off bristling tree branches.
Every morning she has half a cantaloupe with a small yogurt,
coffee black, as she sits on the bar stool by the kitchen counter,
talking small deliberate bites, always leaving about one third
of the fruit uneaten. She sits in darkness, whether it is sunny
outside, or whether the moon hangs gingerly in the midnight sky.
Such is her world.
At nine-thirty every night, she settles into bed, listening
to Mike Huckabee, or and old rerun of The Virginian
on the television, or she calls her friend Helen
to check in, say goodnight, before repeating the same routing
again tomorrow, finding comfort in these rituals.
Occasionally, she will go with Duane to the grocery store
as he hustles to grab two percent milk and tv dinners
to place into the cart. He will then drive her home laughing
at her witty observations, how people talk to their pets
as if they were children or how children outfool
slick, strict parents. She is always spot on, even if she cannot
actually see.
Sometimes she will sit in silence listening to the whir
of the washing machine, or to the clink, clink, clink
of the ice maker, waiting until 5 p.m., when her neighbor
Susie will come to rap on her door bellowing,
“Where's my drink”, to which she will reply
“I thought you'd never come.” They will laugh and talk
about emerging taxes, the state of the nation's economy,
how her husband left her far too soon, or how her friends,
one by one, are passing on, leaving her to face the new day
alone, or how grateful she is for having watched
the world change in the past century, or how lucky
she is to have the love of her granddaughters who call twice
a week, making her laugh and smile.
She sees, but she doesn't see, and somehow, in some way,
she accepts what is, and does not question why not, or allows
to feel sorry for herself. She can accept this because the world
is going to change anyway, and all she can do is hang on for the ride.
Just hold on. Just hold on tight. All she can do is hold on.
