for mom
exerpts from previous writings
once i was sitting in the living room,
and i said i need to go wash my hands.
so i walked upstairs, went over to the kitchen sink.
mom, sitting in the living room, didn’t mention
that the sink was half-full of raw squid for her dinner.
i shriek. mom laughs.
“are their beady little eyes looking
up at you?” she asked.
the little devil.
--
every once in a while
mom would play cards with us
but her poker face is just awful.
she’d draw a card,
one she evidently wanted
look at it down her bifocals
raise her eyebrows
“ooh, ooh, ooh!!” she’d say.
we all knew then we should fold
--
she never wanted to sing,
mom always said she
sounded just awful, and dad even
agreed. he’d make a humorous threat,
like, be careful, or i’ll make mom sing.
but one thing mom was always
musical at was yawning,
i think she could hum a song while
she yawned
usually, though, she
would just start her yawn with a high pitch
then change key by key
for five or six notes
sometimes we’d all just be quiet watching
television and out would come one of
mother’s original scores.
--
once when i was in florida
visiting mom and dad
(i think it was a sunday)
mom asked me,
“what do you want for dinner
tuesday?”
and i thought,
i don’t know what i want for dinner
tonight, or even if i want
to eat, much less
what i want for dinner
two days from now
i wanted to tell her to relax,
not to worry about me,
and i thought,
there she goes again
making sure
everything is perfect
--
she never likes to see her daughter cry
it would make her cry too
“you go in there, talk to her”
she would say to another daughter
i remember once
i cried and ran upstairs to my bedroom
i was laying on my bed in the dark
my sister tried to come in
i told her to leave me alone
then my mother knocked
and i couldn’t tell her to go away
she came in, sat on the bed
started crying
“you see, i always turn into a mess”
but it was nice to see you cry for me
Copyright Janet Kuypers.
All rights reserved. No material
may be reprinted without express permission.
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