Apostrophe to My Mother
By Liz Huntington
I just had a new dream about you,
Unlike the one we both know
In which you are the great dead mother
And I’m the little, live one:
It’s summer,
I’m going to and from meals
But never sit at a table or see any of the food.
Now you and I are in the water – a dark pond
Where a dozen people float,
Capturing water lilies with their toes.
We circle, slide over each other
Like two fish schooling.
And I take your hands in mine
And ask them to teach me.
You speak for your hands:
No, no you say for them.
Of famous sins, pride is the most destructive.
I feel foolish,
But keep your fingers locked in mine.
