i have a feeling

that writing what i actually feel

and think and am here

would not be a good idea.

so this is it.

mother come back (with all of you)

she knew there was trouble

when the sewing machine

started talking back.

when the simple task

and action that saved her

no longer came

as a first reaction

you can't do this,

not anymore

the thing jerked

below her hands,

no longer humming

breezily

like it used to.

that was the year

her mind started to go

along with her body.

the hands that had flown

so effortlessly

making wedding dresses

and later, christening gowns

were now bent brittle frail

and refused to put

pins to fabric.

she just forgot how,

claiming that her head

wouldn't let it happen

anymore.

i was taught at a young

age how to run that

damn contraption,

how to whip-stitch and

hem everything by hand.

no matter how many dresses

and pillow cases i made,

nothing compared to

how hers had been

(when they had been)

before time crept up

and ran away with her and

all the talent those

fragile hands had possessed.

time came and took my blankets

and pillow cases and dresses

before it finally took

my mother along as well.

----------------------

sunday's litanies

we were predictable

like seasons like

storms, you could just feel us

brewing in the air.

every sunday we'd be

sitting on the porch,

on the wooden swing

your father made for us

(before finding out we were

'living in sin')

my eyes fixed intently

on your pen as it

danced over page

after page,

barely making contact

with the rough paper,

(like the way you touched

my smooth skin)

making each gentle character

blend so beautifully

into the next.

i'd kneel before you,

waiting for the day

you'd claim me

and be my salvation.

your words were my scripture

and i called you my bible

because you were the closest thing

to god i'd ever known.

you'd bat me away

on days like these,

shooing me like i was

one of those pesky moths

on a hot summer night,

beating about as if

you were the flame.

claiming my attention

and observation made

everything difficult, you'd

banish me

to the bedroom

singeing my wings

and dousing your flame,

even though

you knew this closeness

was all i desired.

----------------------------

she will see him soon

i sat in the chair every night,

holding his hand

and talking -

like he could understand

a word i was saying.

the only response

i'd ever get was the

whir-tsh

of his i.v. pumping

and pumping more drugs

into his body,

trying to force

life back into him.

the beeping of

every other machine

on the floor

laid the beat for

the saddest song

i've ever heard.

and pearl,

oh pearl,

provided the lyrics,

something about

her dead husband,

starting the chorus over

every five minutes--

i'm going to visit him,

soon, she'd say,

so very very soon.

i'd never envied

someone so much

in my entire life.