Breadcrumb #682
KATHRYN POWELL
I.
What I mean by mother is the woman I imagine / swarths of memories pieced over the plains of my childhood / those plains / I mean the mosaic of memories / barefoot in the backyard, stubbed toe on sandbox / apple tree falling green orbs watch for worms / memories / I mean eat cake when it thunders / I mean sit on the porch in the thunder held close to her breast / as the grey waves roll / her brown curls caress my ears / face buried in her neck / we count together: one / two / three / how many miles will it be / storms can’t scare us / though she taught me / to be prepared: cans in basements, bathroom battery radios, extra blankets / These memories build a mother.
II.
My mother / I say she is my mother, because I mean she is / mine / she named me / raised me / cultivated me / my / mother / taught me to write straight with my papers slanted / circled misspellings and filled in the commas / slipped poems in my lunchbox / I grew tall / I am older now / I see myself in my mother / I mean I see my mother in / me / filling the dishwasher bowls first / drafting small poems to give away / biting the tongue to think / but I am not / a mother / and my mother was not / always / my mother / who was she before / our prairie / this woman who was not mine / I do not know her.
III.
That prairie sky, I mean / that space that always reminds me / of mother / my / mother / prairie sky / big bright and blue or suddenly grey / wisps of cloud floating by / out in a blazing sunset / I remember summer evenings / driving with my mother / across prairie plains / Once she turned to me and said / I love the prairie / because I love the wind / car windows rolled down / brown curls skipped across her shoulders / orange sun dipped / under golden tassel-tipped / fields / When was this memory planted? / I don’t remember / All I remember / is that the wind / pulls at us both / calling us to look / Look up / little ones / see how little you are / says the breeze / in its own little poem / as it pulls our long hair / swirling strands out the car window / on a summer day.