06 May Poets’ Corner: Feela for Mother’s Day
According to several blog sites, 72 percent of moms felt more beautiful when they were pregnant. And for Mother’s Day, 1 in 4 moms say they want a trip to the spa.
And that goes for grandmothers too. Why shouldn’t grandmothers be indulged?
High fashions brands such as Dolce Gabbana and Celine are celebrating Gray Power, featuring grandmothers in their glossy ads. Let’s join that line.
In the run up to Mother’s Day, below poet/author and regular TIO contributor David Feela pays a poignant tribute to the mother of our mothers, grandma.
Frayed
Grandmother hid mothballs upstairs.
I first found them near the bottom
of a steamer trunk, like eggs in a nest
of yellow letters. Then I found more
at the back of dark drawers filled
with worn lace and linen. Strange orbs
glistening like eyes brimming with tears.
I didn’t know why she hid them.
Either they were precious jewels
or contraband. How could reticence
be so white, be pushed away so deeply.
Moths must feed on dust,
subsist on heat and light.
When we visited, my fear filled
the little room upstairs where we slept.
She lived below, her teeth left overnight
in a red glass beside the sink.
The tread, she said, was too steep.
At bedtime I climbed carefully
so the moths wouldn’t hear me coming,
feet where the boards wouldn’t squeak.
From bed I surveyed the kitchen below
through an open heating vent
set like a TV screen in the floor,
listening to women’s voices
late into the night.
I was the only man in the house
though at the time I didn’t know
what that meant, why
they expected more out of me.
When mother finally came to bed
I was sound asleep. She managed
those stairs so quietly I never heard
her coming. Her blankets twisted around her
like a cocoon, so she stayed invisible to me.
I asked Grandmother one morning
while I spooned my shredded wheat
if moths ate skin.
She said she didn’t think so,
then put her teeth in.
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