Self-Portrait on Vacation
Mary Winters
Porch, Cape Cod cottage:
where Son and cousin play with
matches; where he sat on
Mom's sunglasses -- same day
he rode into her from behind
on his bicycle -- not too
sporting, said Mom. Same
porch where she rests
Christmas wreath of plastic grapes
and pine cones from
dead grandparents' store of
basement treasures; neighbors say
it's so good to see lights on again
in Carrie Lee and Fred's house.
Mom -- who's also really Mary --
sits there, summer in the evening,
first glass of wine, marveling
anew at the fecundity of
mosquitoes. Marveling anew how
intelligence can skip a generation,
but then, that word can have
so many meanings. Wondering again
how a kid can steal thunder,
rob a punchline. Wondering if Spouse
got the darn grill going -- never
could start a fire or make repairs
like her father. Second glass of
wine, time to start wondering:
are these the best years of her
life...how would she know --
how would she know in time.
