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  • My mother, who was living at Loretto nursing home in Syracuse, NY, had a brain tumor the size of a lemon in her head (the same tumor I now have). The tumor was removed, and though the operation was supposedly a success, she has lost her short-term memory and was often confused. But sometimes, she said remarkable things:
  • Hibiscus Wind

    My mother rolls her wheelchair to the red hibiscus
    at the window of the nursing home lounge,
    watches closely. Dusty petals tremble,
    and so do her thin shoulders, rounded
    under sweaters and afghans. She leans closer, bowing
    her head toward the fabric flowers, reaching
    out her arms. Her pale
    face reflects scarlet and gold. She smiles, glows
    with excitement, leans ever closer,
    encircles the plant with her hands.
    The air conditioner snorts, rattles, and wheezes.
    "Oh," she says, backing suddenly away,
    voice and hands falling. "It's only
    the wind. I thought small birds
    were gathering to burst from the blossoms
    and I wanted to be ready
    to catch one."



    Mary Stebbins Taitt
  • I put "now" as the date, because I don't remember the date and I am posting it now--and the poem is newly revised today. My mother died in January 2007.

    For sagas, I put first loves (who's more of a first love than one's mother?) and working (because poetry is my work.)

    I miss you all, no time to explain, will be back sometime I hope.
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