Thank you for visiting my poetry site. I started writing poems to help me understand things better. It’s a tool I use to crack open a subject and poke around. If you have any thoughts feel free to contact me. I want to thank the editors who publish my work. Be well. Michael
My mother takes the robe
from the hotel closet and the hangers.
Then looks out the window
and points See - you forget!
She takes the Atlantic Ocean, folds
it over several times to fit
into my suitcase. And what about these?
She picks the thousands of roses
from the carpet. And this?—
slips the painting of the beach ball
and child from the wall. After telling her
these are not mine,
what can I say to the woman
who tells everyone I am the reason
for the flowers and the rain, and
the sun revolves around me, but
Sorry, Mom, next time I’ll remember. She takes
the box of tissues, sweeps
every grain of sand off the beach,
collects the small shampoos, the plastic cups,
the coffee maker, all the bed linens and,
though I remind her we always
have the sun, she finds
enough room for the table lamp.
Appears in Pleiades, 2017