In recognition of Poetry Month, and to celebrate our treasure trove of Orcas Island poets, Orcas Issues is pleased and honored to offer daily poetry during April.

Calling My Mother

My mother answers, tells me
she is putting the phone
in her skirt pocket
so she can sit on the couch
in the living room,
put her feet up.
It is evening, after all, the time
when her legs give out.

After so many years in the chill
of her distance, I am carried
in the warm dark of her pocket. I ride
her hip, surrounded
by the muffle of fabric, the squeak
and scrape of her walker
across wood floors,
her labor, the long journey
from kitchen to living room,
and finally the WHOOSH
of the couch cushion as she sits down,
the walker folding.

Then she lifts us both
out of darkness. When finally
she catches her breath, she holds me
to her cheek. Then my mother gives me
her voice. She gives me
my name.

© Laurel Rust

 

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