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Poetry

Poetry

Holding Her Knees

 I don't remember exactly where everyone else was that afternoon but somehow I was alone looking out through the beat up screened door, onto crooked steps where mom sat in a red v-neck tee-shirt and blue jeans, feet pulled in close hugging her knees, rocking slightly, staring out past the elm trees on the boulevard, past cars on their way uptown for groceries, I was daydreaming too until dad sat down next to her, actually, he just stood there kind of bent over, and touched her shoulder, mom stopped rocking but didn't turn around

"how do you feel today?"

-

"I know it takes time"

dad went back inside. sidestepping me, he went upstairs and the screen door banged shut close to my face, forcing my attention on the rusty strainer of a pattern the screen left. I don't remember mom ever coming in and making supper that night, though at some time she did. Don't remember any tears in church or at the cemetery, but afterwards, after she came home again we ate the store bought bread. Twinkies replaced eggs, sugar, milk and flour at 350 degrees.

Nobody asked me about it at school, though they all knew she was in labor the day before, people brought hot dish in big pots covered with tinfoil.

Didn't get a headstone, couldn't , it was a stake with a number on it I think- the graveside ceremony wasn't hard. But afterwards, standing with cousins talking about stupid stuff,  smelling the rotten leaves staring down into the ravine full of used tires and trash below (wondering why i hadn't cried)

no stone and a humble view is what I remember about the only funeral where I got to sit in the front row, the place where you hear the words the pastor whispers to the mother after the service

"how's your mom doing?"

"not so good"

-not so good- is what dad told me when I met him in the entryway, the night it happened.

"where you going?" he asked after he told me

"basketball practice" I was numb

and he let me, he let me go and I still haven't asked Bernt or Ole what they remember about when dad picked them up at my uncle's house, or if they even remember.

Did they have their turn watching her through the screen sitting, rocking, hugging her knees. Did they notice the parade of ladies who brought food wrapped in foil, or when they stopped coming and dad cooked?

did they ask mom if she was ok,

did they cry.

When did she die, what day exactly, 

                 14 years ago in Minnesota in early spring, march maybe.

by Justin Olmanson

P     r     o     g     r     e     s     s     i     o     n 

read at your own risk...

discovered, lost and squandered

death

various people

prayers, hymns and questions

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