In the Mouth of Language

Tomorrow is my mother’s 55th birthday. At least it would be, if she hadn’t died just a month before her 33rd birthday. I don’t want that to get lost, or to just be a quick take. So today I’m posting a poem for my mother. She gave me her eyes, her quick temper, and her loving heart. She gave me life.

042_42Your truly as a peanut, and mi madre.

When I am Asked

Lisel Mueller

When I am asked
how I began writing poems,
I talk about the indifference of nature.
It was soon after my mother died,
a brilliant June day,
everything blooming.
I sat on a gray stone bench
in a lovingly planted garden,
but the day lilies were as deaf
as the ears of drunken sleepers
and the roses curved inward.
Nothing was black or broken
and not a leaf fell
and the sun blared endless commercials
for summer holidays.
I sat on a gray stone bench
ringed with the ingenue faces
of pink and white impatiens
and placed my grief
in the mouth of language,
the only thing that would grieve with me.
Advertisements

3 thoughts on “In the Mouth of Language

  1. I wish your mother were here to enrich your joys and to comfort you when life gives its hard moments. She is proud of you.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s