Robin Wright – 2 poems

At the Cemetery

 

I walk the grounds, read stones

with names from my mother’s

generation, Gladys, Florence, Arlene.

My mother isn’t dead. If she were,

she’d listen then.

 

Her concern no longer a boyfriend or husband

she’s trying to reconcile with or stay with

for the dresses, knickknacks, or booze. Not the one

 

who checked my homework, tore up

the paper, if one math problem was wrong

or one word misspelled. Not the one

 

who tickled me until urine ran down my leg

then laughed while I cried. Not the one

who threatened to kill my dog.

 

Screw them. Pretend Mother died,

lay a rose in front of a stone that’s worn,

trace the name with the tip of my finger,

 

pluck weeds, faded ribbons, limp stems,

as if I am that woman’s loving daughter,

as if I know what her life meant

while she was alive.

 

 

🍃

 

 

Erasure

 

Friends have passed away:

Dave, Marcia, Paula, Kerry, Julie, Laura, Michael, Randy,

Places of former employment have closed:

  1. Salt Fish and Chips, Farmer’s Daughter, Tamary Management, Integra Bank

I miss:

Hot air balloons made from dry cleaning bags, margaritas at Hacienda, Payday candy bars, drum solos, cat stories

I no longer have:

Thick hair, tight skin, firm muscles

I no longer am.

 

 

🍃

 

 

Robin Wright lives in Southern Indiana. Her work has appeared in The Literary Nest, Rune BearEvent Horizon MagazineAnother Way RoundAriel ChartBindweed MagazineMuddy River Poetry Review, Indiana Voice JournalPeacock Journal,Rat’s Ass Review, and othersTwo of her poems were published in the University of Southern Indiana’s 50th anniversary anthology, Time Present, Time Past. She was a finalist in Poetry Matters’ contest for the Spring Robinson/Mahogany Red Literary Prize.

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