Volume 5, 2005

Not Yet Mother Said

Greg Moglia

Don't call, not yet
Brother and mother at each side of Grandpa Pietro
He slumped, head loose on a kitchen chair
Gramps had put in a day collecting newspapers
When the summer sun did him in

My brother just turned an innocent seventeen
Shouts at mother Mom, call 911 now
No wait, let's see if he comes out of it
Eighty-four years old and mother says wait

She cared for her father-in law for eight years
The extra place at the table
Grumpy old man always in the way
Here it just might end
Her home cleared of the burden

When brother finally defies her and calls
It's too late
Mother had her victory
Today I ask why?

Did you ever clean his dirty underwear? she says
Cook him a supper?
Not go on a vacation?
For eight years, for eight years

No mother, but...
You and Brother Ron waiting
As gramps drops down
I feel a pull towards each of you
Ache as the stars might
If stars could ache

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