(No subject)
my mother cries most days
hot humid days when the sun sets at 8:30
short winter days with frost
on her basil plants still producing
sweet leaves for sunday’s sauce
spring days when the birds come
close to the porch where my mother stares
asking me why the birds don’t stop and visit longer.
my mother cries most days
not remembering
the last time we spoke
the last time I saw her
that two of her siblings are still alive
that she spent 65 years as a seamstress
spending seven days a week
going to rich women’s homes
bending her 4 foot 10 inch frame
pinning hems, shortening sleeves
price tag on a jacket that cost more
than our monthly grocery bill.