our elderly mothers

our elderly mothers

our elderly mothers come back
through the large tan doors
into the waiting room full of young mothers
who are frantic and green
erotic and with child again
and mama comes among them
searching the people for us
finds us in a quiet corner away from the kids
thumbing the gardening magazines
and we in turn watch her eyes
before she conjures her strong smile
watching for the diagnosis
it’s always in her eyes
the frank news
before her posture returns and she feigns
not needing her cane
educator, pastor, community mother
smiles for everyone
but a glance at you from darkness
she is witnessing her own destruction
and you are in orbit around her
interpreting silences

this year was short ether
cardiology clinics and the
immeasurable waits of the specialists
waiting in the business square atrium
among the roses
watching birds and counting cars
i have spent whole days hungry and sterile
stainless among the magazines
and slept and awoke and waited
until she came and said let’s go
usually to the pharmacy
then to eat

i was her best friend
and sometimes did not want to be
i was her son and needed her in that way
but when there was no one else to tell about
the hysterectomy to remove the dark thing
showing on the x rays
she asked myopinion
i simply wanted her alive
and told her i’d be there

but after a season of hospital halls
and nurses clicking and scuffling by
transfusions and the lilac quiet
she stopped going to her appointments
stopped driving
we missed the scheduled bloodwork
and the breathing treatments
each week was some private suffering
but no more doctors

she was in her night gown for 4 days
she couldn’t sleep laying down
hadn’t been to church in 2 months
when she was up to it
i’d take her to the store
she’d sit in the car and watch the people
and i’d take the long way home
past the new houses and her old school
open the windows to hear the children playing
when she was barely verbal
i’d sing with her
say funny things and rub her back
talk about africa and alabama
and how we’d go and go when she got better
oh the things we were going to eat
and the places
the poems we would collaborate on.

it was the pan of windless summer
and very hot
the crops were full of white light
and the dust was furious at the roadside
the air conditioning burned out
gave into the temper of the season
i kept trays of ice and would wrap them in a towel
lay the towel on her
we suggested she go to my sister’s to keep cool
she refused
and the heat settled in around the house
like a belligerent stranger

after two days of much wrangling
over the warranty of the air conditioner
they fixed it
she asked me to feel her belly
it was hard and dark like volcanic glass
her furosemide wasn’t working
wasn’t cutting her water
and her asthma began to betray her
kept her panting
everything came with so much effort
all that sky and no breath

she wanted to tell me who she paid the mortgage to
to show me the papers
but she started to cough
and needed her inhaler
i rubbed her back until she calmed

the morning was still and bright
i didn’t hear her up and around
so i let her sleep
went out into the yard
and to my car
after about 30 minutes
i eventually came to her bedroom door
to check on her

at the edge of her door i watched her shoulder
i noticed her feet were dark
i watched her shoulder further
it never moved
and i watched longer
and longer
it never moved

my mother would have loved obama
the idea of him
from apartheid in the south
where black men stood at the cusp of living
confounded by the lack of choices
from terror in alabama
to infinite territory
she would have driven to church in her silver cadillac
and testified to the greatness of god
and the mysteries therein
oh they would have holyghost danced
and shouted and claimed him
oh they would have preached
and been thrust back to youth
she would have eaten from the new hope
the sermon of it
and been sticky with the sweetness

i hope she knows
and i hope she is alright
and knows that i am moving toward being alright
that we continue on with dignity
in the limited knowledge of being here in this life
and have adjusted ourselves
to the loss of our flesh
now that we are without compass
or honing point
in the widest
emptiest country
in the world