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Poetry | May 2019

Heirloom

By Mary Beth Hines

Mother razes and wipes, razes and wipes,
While the old oak groans beneath her fingers,

Lodging a thin splinter into her palm when,
Ungloved, she smoothes a cross-grained edge.

She dresses the rough-hewn surface with spirits,
Finishes sanding–gentler when the heavy work is done.

I sidle in then, surprise us both
By offering to help.

Together, we wipe the antique chest clean of dust,
Kneel, and knead in stain with long strokes.

The wood darkens and ripples with coiling
Tracks and lines as we brush on the last clear coat.

The heirloom shines in the cluttered garage,
Ready for Mother’s children to fill it, empty it.

We draw ourselves up to our feet, Mother’s
Mottled hands pressed to the small of her back, aching

For a few moments at the looming cleanup, swaying
In fumes. I decide then I’ll catch her if she falls.

Tagged: March 2020

3 replies on “Heirloom”

Peggy Gavinsays:
May 16, 2019 at 5:04 pm

Vivid, homey, loving with your signature touch of humor.

Reply
Davesays:
May 17, 2019 at 9:49 am

Lovely remembrance, a bit sad seeing her unfinished work.

Reply
Margaret Bryantsays:
June 14, 2021 at 11:11 am

This is a dynamic piece full of story and anticipation. The imagery is respectful of time and toil.

Reply

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