I wrote this five years ago, just before my mother died.





My mother keeps falling down;

I can’t find my littlest flashlight.


The gray cat is suddenly dead;

I have poison parsnip burns.


My mother doesn’t always know where she is;

the moon in its first quarter is tangled in the oak.


We’re a month from the Equinox and

the low battery light on my mouse blinks red.


My mother doesn’t want to see the doctor.

When I was making supper, I burned the rice.


Weeds have spread through the garden bed;

do I still believe in god?


My mother didn’t recognize me this morning;

I took another photo of the setting sun.


Mice are picking at the ripening tomatoes and

Jupiter burns through the sky before dawn.

One comment on “INCONGRUOUS

  1. Mary, this evokes forgotten memories of my own incongruous thoughts and emotions as each of my parents’ illnesses progressed. You’ve crafted a superb, gentle, even forgiving, message for all caregivers. Thank you!

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