"mommom" poems
Mommom pours peroxide
on the shirt covered in
kisses from the grass
at my cousin's football game
she says
"this is how you remove stains
from clothes"
Grandma puts the last clean dish
on the drying rack
opens a fourth can of beer
from a fridge dressed in magnets
she says
"this is how you remove stains
from your memory"
Mommom shows me how
I should paint my nails
tells me men like girls
with soft hands
Grandma shows me how
to knit
tells me to make sure
I keep myself warm
Mommom is hanging picture frames on the wall
Grandma is watering her herbs
miles apart
they both sigh
and brush their hands on their skirts
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 10:30 PM UTC
Holding hands around
a table
the rim of the toilet seat
Listening to
mommom recite prayer
the voice in my head
Passing
food around the table
on second servings
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
I sit and hold my grandmother
in the shape of a small pillow on my bed -
they turned the dress she used to wear
into covers for all of my family's grief
and all of human need for things to stay close.
Her dress matches my bedsheets,
so it seems almost too fitting for her to be here.
I know grandmothers are grandmothers,
but they've always been people before that,
and maybe pillows afterwards.
I have a lot to do before I die,
and a lot more people will probably know me
and at least a few more people will probably love me,
and I don't wear a lot of dresses but,
I hope I will compliment the color scheme of your bedspread someday. I hope I will fit as easily into your life as a she fit into mine.
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 4:33 AM UTC
There’s nothing that gets me more excited,
Then hearing we’re eating,
Grandma’s biscuits this afternoon.
Whether morning, evening, or night,
I’ll eat them at any time.
So many stories,
Of a long life,
I can barely picture.
Ones filled with joy,
Humor,
Pain,
And grief.
How I delight,
To hear her tales,
Whether tall or not.
Every year,
She visits her sister,
Out in Michigan,
And they go on a trip,
To Arizona.
If I was her age,
I wouldn’t want to move,
I see the pain,
Behind her smile.
I know, though,
As long as she can,
She’ll visit her sister,
In Michigan.
During the summer,
When things seem to slow,
She’s there with activities,
To mellow out the flow.
Yet sometimes, I admit,
I complain and I groan,
A foolish mistake,
The effects not yet shown…
We’ve been through a lot,
She’s seen a lot more than I,
Yet we share that connection,
That connection,
Of family tied so tight.
One of her sons,
Fell in a hole,
And picked up a bottle,
And sold his soul.
I know it wasn’t my fault,
And out of my control,
Yet the way I reacted,
To his actions,
Haunts my soul.
Where he used to reside,
Gutted and reformed,
Filled with fabric,
Waiting to be used.
Sometimes I walk into that room,
To remember…
Even when she’s hurting,
And she can barely walk,
She’ll fix up a supper,
Before you can stop her.
Her stubbornness incalculable,
A trait passed to my mom,
And my brother,
And probably me,
I can’t deny,
Sometimes she worries me.
I’ve already witnessed the end,
On my dad’s side,
The lots, eighteen in all,
Or so I thought.
My neighbors to the right,
Shield your eyes…
I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready,
When she leaves us behind,
I’ve questioned myself,
Late at night.
I know it’s part of the process,
But that doesn’t numb the pain,
If anything, the inevitably,
Makes it twice as agonizing.
I don’t tell her my worries,
I don’t want to see her cry,
For if she does,
I will,
And we’ll both be a mess.
She’s read my stories,
I haven’t sent her a poem,
Scared, and nervous,
About this side of me.
The part kept hidden,
Until the clacking of keys,
Not a fear of acceptance,
But a fear of worrying.
So for now,
While she’s here,
My sweet,
Mommom,
I’ll enjoy,
Your biscuits,
And your sweet tea.
I’ll push the dark thoughts away,
We’ll cross that bridge someday,
But that day is not today,
So I’ll push the dark thoughts away.
Grandparents,
How special,
How precious,
And finite.
How I love mine…
Jan 29, 2025
Jan 29, 2025 at 10:05 PM UTC