Bio Note: My mother has been gone for more than ten years now, and there is not a day in which I do not miss her. She was born September 3, 1925. She was my muse, my dearest friend, and tremendously funny. These poems are from Gravity: New & Selected Poems, Tebot Bach, 2018.
When I Open the Door
It scorches my face like a slap: sweet odor of Mother, trapped in bags of jackets and hats, in boxes of knick knacks and books, which sat two days closed up in my car. It sears my face while I empty the car with each parcel I mail with each offering of books each bag that I give to Goodwill: this perfume of my mother leaving.
Mother returns, as she might, from a cruise, dressed not in black, but chartreuse. Robust, tan, and tall, not pekid, not frail, like when she packed in her life and set sail. I’m warmed to accept her familiar embrace, but startled to notice she’s wearing my face.
©2022 Donna Hilbert
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