
Without Reservation
My mother's 5 feet 8 inches barely fits into my 5 feet 4 still she is moving in Low breasts long legs gnarled toes drop between my narrow shoulders and hips Her diaphragm hooks mine—linked cages doors unlatched Her spine hitches mine her blood pours into my organs her pockets of breath surge my chest but she is dead and I am No Vacancy yet I rearrange to accommodate her arthritic knuckles cracked hip Our twin thumbs meet our flat feet press I grow elastic I billow so she can shake out her death kinks sway among living bones she fills in So long I thought she did not love me with her body but was it I who was supposed to house her motherlessness? Why not invite her dying mother why not her adolescent grief and moon over the lake why not shade trees arching that death room and why not my daughters— puzzle we might solve if we angle and adjust lung to heart to gut just so here and here if you move if you breathe in and you out if you turn your back if you curl round if you and I relax into vacancy
2 replies on “Without Reservation”
what a wonderful poem!!!
Thank you Esther!
Love,
Barbara