Thursday, January 24, 2013

how long ago, it seems, i started out

Family is sometimes a question.
In these rare cases
my mother is the answer--my mother
with her pesto chicken pumpkin
My mother
dainty and perfumed as a soft,
gloved hand. My mother
so dear and lovely
looking out of the window at the weather
then telling Nessa:
Put your sweater on or else the cold
will catch you! It doesn’t happen
that way--I wanted to say,
stooped over cereal, counting milk
bubbles, to make sure I could still
count. I had lost it all
so many years ago--but I lost
the number of years
and now I never glance back. This
is the only form of time travel
I know:
Looking out for a moment unto
the thin fog and feeling
an eye of light, a clean origami
flower, unfold inside me
and present itself as
Family, the answer to that
long, sweeping question:
Mother? Family.
That is all I know.

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