in her head, like sticky string,
she says all blurred that won’t stay out , like,
well, just a few letters, sometimes, like chaps
or something and she goes all quiet,
staring through us and pretty soon you can’t say anything
tying it up with that one word. Ya. Chaps. My mother is so weird.
OK. Chaps. She gets us all thinking that way so none of us can help it.
Chapstick. Alright, she gives me the nod. Charlie Chaplin.
And she gets so excited, laughing when we come up with
something. Just one word. Especially by accident.
Chapter 3 for homework.
Wow! That’s all it takes. One word.Then some old song comes on
or something, Crying in the Chapel and she’s writing all this down
and lassoing chapped lips into a poem about leather chaps
and before you know it we’re having chapattis for dinner
and chaps and dip, and jeez, don’t chap a nail.
She goes down to the computer and builds this chapsite
with a chapuzzle that takes her days but she
throws in some other stuff like Fords, (which I don’t get)but I like that
and a voice saying “Danger! Danger!”
Maybe she’s really losing it,
whatever it is.
My Mother is so weird. All it takes is one word. Chaplain.
Even a word she finds in the fat dictionary. Chaplet.
Like, who cares? But we go along with her
‘cuz she gets such a kick out of it. Plus, she remembers then
how smart we really are in case she forgot.
Ya, all it takes is one word. And now she wants to write
poetry and put it in a chapbook. What the heck?
My mother is so weird. Here we go again.
Chaperone. What is that, anyway?
She says it’s something my sister needs.