Right this moment, in this place,
Mother doesn’t know me, her daughter;
yet she is still glad to see me and talks gaily.
She is happy and cared for.
Right this moment, in this place,
Mother speaks, tells me of the daughter
who doesn’t come to see her.
She says she is happy here, and cared for.
Right this moment, in this place,
someone dresses her, names her garments,
reminds her how to know which room is hers.
She is happy and cared for.
She has someone to clean up her accidents,
converse in gibberish, calm her fears,
put her to bed,
keep her safe and fed.
Right this moment, in this place,
I feel hollow, my heart thumps inside my boney chest.
Mother is happy and cared for.
I hug her and walk away.
Reprinted from The Pond, poems by Richard Jarrette and paintings by Susan Solomon. Copyright © 2019 Green Writers Press. User by permission
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