My gone mother on Mars
Searching for signs of life
Searching for her lungs
She has 1950s curlers in her hair
Smoking 2-3 cigarettes
Mom is right and she is wrong
Lonely in her skin
She dances on her peg leg
Spins on the never-healing stump
Her arm rises in the air
It's just my funny brain tumor
She says
In a crater she finds remnants of Yiddish
Fragments of a Russian lullaby
Her hands are bigger than mine
Knuckles knobbier
She visits me in Mexico, in Cuba
To keep me from floating away
She holds my foot
Martian booby traps everywhere
She has only six months to live
forever
How will she survive her life
On the Red White and Blue Planet?
-- New York, March 28, 2011
2 comments:
I love this poem about Sylvia! In fact I love the three new poems you have posted, all written this year. Bravo!
Hmmm... something happened. I did not mean to post my previous comment as Sylvia. I am Margaret.
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