by Ann Minoff


like my mother when I eat
food remains on the corners of the mouth
most fingers and pants especially the black pair
I wear all the time, crumbs on the chair and floor

she wore animal prints leopard spots on her blouses
skirts, pants, and shoes, even stockings
loved jewelry, gold necklaces and bracelets three at a time

almost to the end she would joke on the elevator
with the doorman, the policeman
a passing neighbor, a child
never complaining about the weather, the day
getting old, she laughed
pulling you into a time
when everything is lost except her

if I could only love that well


Category: Poetry