I wonder if I will be a good mother a mother who

fears less than fright or darkness

would allow given the hollow

road one wanders once that baby

is born.

I wonder if she’ll love me as much

as I deserve or don’t deserve

depending on who is doing the talking

or listening or dancing or walking

or wondering.

I wonder if she’ll want to listen

to me if my knowledge has no tricks

or trades or bits and bytes and pieces

relevant to a teenager’s struggles yet

allow me to regaze toward my

past where I might relive

and perhaps change the pain

to less pain.

I wonder if I feed her she will

grow into a tree and reach out

toward the sun without doubt.

I wonder if I hold her

hand she will let me.


Auf Wiedersehen

one of my favorite old ladies from the senior center died last night. she had a Ph.d. in literature, taught theater at Columbia. could recite lots of German poetry from memory (and did quite often) but had advanced-stage ALZ and didn’t know what to do with those appendages that dangled off her arms. her hands–they confused her.