|Oct/Nov 2001 • Poetry|
Aunt Maddie, whose skin
was confused between olive and grey,
and looked as if it had never
seen sun or even day, gave
me a bag of squishy black
bananas. They're poison,
she chuckled like an old gretelwitch,
don't let your momma eat them.
They're only for your dad. I didn't
say a word when mom ate one,
or later when she got the cancer that
turned her yellow and then black.
Maddie came to visit her.
Laura, she said, what
you need is a club soda.
The carbonation will help anything.
We opened up the bottle Maddie brought,
watched the bubbles rise and pop, and poured
a bit into a shot
glass but mom couldn't swallow that
and died even hefore the opened
bottle could go flat.