More in Poetry
dishes
dishes
(after an idea from Colleen Chelton)
outside the window
my mother shoos squirrels
from the feeder.
chases them
from sunflower lunch
to trees.
“Ralphie,”
she shouts
at the one she has named,
“what are you doing?”
as though
she doesn’t know,
as though
he might answer.
inside I lift
a dish from water,
rinse soap away
and stand it to dry.
when I look up
my mother is motionless
in the yard.
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