Jeff

I can’t tell you that this is for you

This poem I’m writing

Because you want to be
Inconspicuous
You are humility personified

You are like mother that way

Always putting others before yourself

And I remember her telling me

You grew up hiding

Behind her skirts, clinging

So the Kindergarten teacher told her

To take you home again

Until you were ready for her to leave you

Say good-bye

And I thought of this when mother died

Your earnest gifts:

I thought of the merry-go-round of glass
Hand blown that you sent me for Christmas
And that avocado
Set on top of the fridge

The one I was told to try, just for me

And how you used to say
All music is best in the head
Like the Battle Hymn of the Republic
Brahms of course
Because then I’d no longer need

The aid of a recording
To listen

And you did insist how important it is to memorize
The Table of the Elements
As we walked around the block together
And I did
For each precious Element
Until I got to Plutonium

And I also remember you teaching me
How to write poetry

And needless to say I’m trying

But it’s you who can write poems
If only you’d let the world read one…

Perhaps you can tell how you grew up hiding

Behind mother’s dresses, behind books

Until you were ready

And how just this past week you
Drove through the night, headlong home

To see our mother off

But it was her spirit that kept the vigil

For little did you know

By the time you arrived, she had passed away

Had been taken away

Still

When you peeked through the window

She was there, sleeping and alive

And not wanting to wake her

You slept in the car that night

And I believe she wanted you to remember

That she’ll never leave you

Until you are ready

I’ll be here

My small boy, my grown son

I’ll never leave you without saying

Good-bye.

© 2011 Christine Tsen.  All Rights Reserved.