_______________________________________________________
Visiting Her in Queens Is More Enlightening than a Month in a Monastery in Tibet
For the fourth time my mother
asks, “How many children
do you have?” I’m beginning
to believe my answer,
“Two, Mom,” is wrong. Maybe
the lesson is they are not mine,
not owned by me, and
she is teaching me about
my relationship with her.
I wash my dish and hers.
She washes them again. I ask why.
She asks why I care.
Before bed she unlocks and opens
the front door. While she sleeps
I close and lock it. She gets up. Unlocks it.
“What I have no one wants,” she says.
I nod. She nods.
Are we agreeing?
My shrunken guru says she was up all night
preparing a salad for my breakfast.
She serves me an onion.
I want her to make French toast
for me like she used to.
I want to tell her about my pain,
and I want her to make it go away.
I want the present to be as good as
the past she does not remember.
I toast white bread for her, butter it,
cut it in half. I eat a piece of onion.
She asks me why I’m crying.
_______________________________________________________________________________________
Michael Mark is the author of the chapbook Visiting Her in Queens is More Enlightening than a Month in a Monastery in Tibet, which won the 2022 Rattle Prize. His poems have appeared in Copper Nickel, The New York Times, Pleiades, Ploughshares, Poetry Northwest, Sixth Finch, Southern Review, The Sun, and elsewhere. His two books of stories are Toba (Atheneum) and At the Hands of a Thief (Atheneum). [This poem originally appeared in The Sun.]
_______________________________________________________________________________________
Attributed to Vincenzo Campi (1530-1591), Old Peasant Woman with a Distaff and Spindle
This poem is a conjuring spell for Grief. Beautiful Grief who reminds us we've loved.
Posted by: Christine | February 12, 2023 at 10:48 AM
Beautiful, tender poem. Wonderful artwork.
Posted by: Eileen Reich | February 12, 2023 at 11:01 AM
I love this poem and I love Mark's chapbook! He is a poet of poignancy and exact imagery.
Posted by: Denise Duhameld | February 12, 2023 at 11:30 AM
Oh the heart belongs to this magnificent poem. This perfect thing.
And I live every week for the art curated by T P WINCH.
Posted by: Grace Cavalieri | February 12, 2023 at 11:30 AM
Grace: thank you for that compliment.
Posted by: Terence Winch | February 12, 2023 at 11:37 AM
Tears. And I didn't even have an onion. Thank you.
Posted by: Anne Harding Woodworth | February 12, 2023 at 11:42 AM
What grace C said! That bite of onion—brings tears to my eyes too. This poem is an act of true grace. Thank you.
Posted by: Clarinda | February 12, 2023 at 11:50 AM
another perfect poem and choice terence
Posted by: lally | February 12, 2023 at 11:51 AM
Michael: thank you (I knew you would like it).
Posted by: Terence Winch | February 12, 2023 at 12:06 PM
Once again, Terry, you make me think and feel, laugh and cry ....... all at the same time.
Thanks for this.
Posted by: Patrick Clancy | February 12, 2023 at 12:08 PM
I love this poem's sustained focus on the action of the speaker and his mother, and how it's also blessed with the sudden appearance certain sudden striking and mysterious lines like "What I have no one wants," and "I want the present to be as good / as the past she does not remember," not to mention the reference to the guru, who's shrunken! It's a tough memory to capture well and Michael Mark does it for sure. Thanks Terence for showing us!
Posted by: Don Berger | February 12, 2023 at 01:06 PM
Another great poem. And i agree the artwork you find is a delight to behold.
Posted by: Doug Pell | February 12, 2023 at 01:48 PM
Thanks, Don. "What I have no one wants"---my favorite line as well.
Posted by: Terence Winch | February 12, 2023 at 01:54 PM
Doug: thanks for that comment.
Posted by: Terence Winch | February 12, 2023 at 01:55 PM
PJC: Thanks for the comment.
Posted by: Terence Winch | February 12, 2023 at 02:06 PM
Wow, this poem is so tragicomically relatable. It’s brilliant!
Posted by: Abbie Mulvihill | February 12, 2023 at 03:45 PM
Very cool poem. I love the bracing feeling at the end of being hit by the onion’s astringency and the resulting tears.
Posted by: Amy Gerstler | February 12, 2023 at 03:49 PM
Whoa! Wow! This is great in all the ways that everyone has been saying. Thank you, Michael Mark, for the poem & Terence for giving us so much heart week after week.
Posted by: Elinor Nauen | February 12, 2023 at 04:06 PM
Thank you, Elinor, for the comment.
Posted by: Terence Winch | February 12, 2023 at 05:43 PM
This is wonderful!
Posted by: Susan Campbell | February 12, 2023 at 06:54 PM
A beautifully insightful poem of loss, and the joy of what may still be discovered in this late adult relationship of a mother and son. Simple, specific, and powerful images that invite us to linger. Michael Mark’s chapbook is a revelation, and highly recommended. I also echo the praise of everyone commenting on the spot-on painting selected to accompany the poem.
Posted by: Gordon Kippola | February 13, 2023 at 01:02 AM
Touching. Thank you.
Posted by: Phyllis Rosenzweig | February 13, 2023 at 11:19 AM
Such a beautiful, powerful poem. "My shrunken guru" kills me.
Posted by: Edith Alter | February 13, 2023 at 11:30 AM
What a gorgeous poem.
Posted by: Robin Raven | February 13, 2023 at 11:31 AM
So beautiful, and a powerful example of how universal the particular can be. Thank you for this!
Posted by: K Lo | February 13, 2023 at 11:32 AM