Mom and me
I comb her soft gray hair.
She whacked my hair off, spit on her fingers,
Rubbed down my cow lick.
Three younger siblings called her away.
I went off to first grade.
“I did not have time to make you pretty,”
she once said.
I comb her soft gray hair.
“That feels good, “
she utters from her Alzheimner’s bed.
She made me feel pretty.
I comb her soft gray hair. I comb her soft gray hair.
8 thoughts on "Mom and me"
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that repetition in the last line approximating the repetitive combing movement brought tears to my eyes
The contrast between the hair care creates such tension that it makes the ending so much more gentle and caring. Lovely!
Beautiful and poignant.
Agree with above comments- so lovely!
Felt. So felt.
A simple act like combing another’s hair works so effectively to book end a relationship so freighted and so fragile as
daughter and frail mother.
“from her Alzheimer’s bed” conveys pages, chapters, volumes of story and tenderness.
So caring.
That repetition is so powerful- and soothing. Perfectly placed- to pace the poem.
So moving.
Wow! Thanks everyone.