Archive 10/06/08 - (1)

   

The Green Sweater

              

Last night, I picked up my ninety-three-year-old mother,

At her house (where she's lived, fifty-seven years),

For Sunday dinner at the country-club pub.

 

She confessed she'd wanted to change dresses

And would have, had I not arrived so punctually.

"You might have to hold my hand, tonight.

 

"I'm wearing high heels; they feel better than flats."

Settling in, next to me,

She asked me to help her buckle her seatbelt.

 

"What a pretty green color your sweater is," I said.

"And I like the Trifari crown pin."

"I knew you would. You gave it to me, remember?"

 

"Of course I do."

"Since I wore this sweater, last year, it's gotten bigger...

Or," she smiled, "I've grown smaller."

 

When we arrived, I got out, took her hand.

I could feel her frailty travel all the way down her arm,

To her trembling fingers, which I held lightly,

 

With just enough touch to stabilize her tottering.

Head down, she plowed ahead, almost pulling me along.

Once we were seated, the waiter filled our wineglasses,

 

Brought menus, recited the specials, and left us alone.

I raised a toast: "L'chaim — to your good health."

"And to yours. Your health is more important than mine."

 

With shaking hand, she mastered her matzo-ball soup.

Then came her spaghetti pomodoro with eggplant,

My shrimp-crab-and-lobster salad.

 

Halfway through her entrée, my mother missed the mark.

She knew, at once,

That her pasta had landed on her sweater.

 

"Well, there goes this one, to the cleaners, tomorrow.

I'm glad we're sitting at this table, in the back,

So no one can see me."

 

"Mom, it's just fine. These things happen all the time.

Tomato sauce is impossible to keep off your clothes;

It's like eating barbecued ribs."

 

The soft green of her sweater contrasted, sharply,

With the three conspicuous red splotches

Just below her Queen Elizabeth coronation pin.

 

"It's a good thing I didn't change dresses.

The other's much better.

I would have hated to ruin that one; it's new."

 

Once home, I walked her to the back door, kissed her.

"You're my firstborn, you know," she said.

"Thank you for such a nice night out."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

10/06/08 - (1)

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 
   
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