Wendy Grossman
Praise For My Mother
praise my mother and her big-boned beauty
praise the breath she takes from me
every time an old photo resurfaces
praise those photos, sparse
the same ones over and over
praise especially the faded sepia one
barely fourteen, her pixie smile
tossed over shoulder
proof how fleeting beauty can be
praise my mother, she lived for forty-nine years
gone now, thirty-five
praise my mother whose father
wouldn’t let her go to art school
too wild for a girl in the 1950’s
praise my mother who wouldn’t finish college
after she and my father eloped at nineteen
praise my mother’s arms wrapped around me
truest indication of her love
praise my fear and confusion when she yelled
had I somehow failed her
praise my mother yelling
I’d yell too if I was twenty-four
with three children under the age of five
praise my mother for laughing at my father’s jokes
praise her for yelling at him for making everything a joke
Including her yelling
praise my wish to fit into my mother’s
pleated white wool pants and funky heels
her: 5’ 8”, size 10 shoe
me: 5’ 4,’’ size 8 shoe
praise my mother for teaching me how to
perfectly pare an apple for the pie
I can still taste on my tongue
praise her for warning me about boys
only being out for one thing
praise my trying to undo this teaching
with my two daughters
praise my mother who proved
she didn’t need the college degree
to be a sharp businesswoman
or use her artist eye to make a home
praise her for making 70’s shag carpet and formica hip
praise my mother for making everything beautiful
praise her for not allowing ketchup bottles on the dining table
praise my sisters and me spooning condiments into white lotus porcelain bowls
praise my mother who kept falling asleep in the middle of the day
praise time suspended to filter the news
of my mother’s brain cancer
praise my father who couldn’t bare telling us the full prognosis
praise my older sister for telling the truth
my younger sister and I could barely swallow
praise my mother’s aphasia
praise her instructions from her hospital bed in our living room
to set the tablecloth cat corner in order to make it fit
praise her tired self going to the MJ concert in Hartford, for my sake
praise my shame in seeing her in the wig she then wore
praise my father for tenderly meeting his only love’s every need
praise my longing for her to have met all her grandchildren
praise my wish I could call her
and share all the things I kept hidden
praise my still asking her if I am doing okay
praise my pretending our phone calls into existence
Wendy Grossman writes poetry, memoir and personal essays. Her work has been published in Indolent Books (What Rough Beast online edition), The New York Times, and her debut poetry chapbook, Dreamcycle (my days and nights with John Leguizamo) was recently published by Bottlecap Press. Her blog on cross-racial connection, and unlearning whiteness can be found at www.wendyjanegrossman.com. Wendy lives in Providence, Rhode Island.