Conversations & Cookies
My mother’s red hands wash the dishes
in endless circles, her face a lemon-sour scowl,
her mind at far off places. Circles and circles
and circles. Pick up another plate. More circles.
Repeat, again and again. I sit at the table, picking
apart my chicken with a salad fork, turning words
over in my head, trying to find the right way to say,
I don’t like the way you talk to me. You really hurt me,
but when they come out I know they won’t be graceful-
they’ll tumble out with bitter hot steam and angry tears,
and she’ll yell back and slam another dish onto the rack.
I don’t know how to talk to my mother anymore-
we seem to have lost that ability years ago, with
those little lunch dates at Subway in Old Towne Glendale
while my brother was at karate across the street.
We tore apart pastrami sandwiches and the softest
chocolate chip cookies long before we tore apart each other.
The sweetness of those summer days and hour-long
conversations shriveled and died with the seasons;
when she’d pick me up from school, I’d see that same
scowl, already printed on her face. She stopped asking
how my day went, and I stopped lying that it was good.
We rode out the rest of those car rides, those meals,
and every day after, in silence.
in endless circles, her face a lemon-sour scowl,
her mind at far off places. Circles and circles
and circles. Pick up another plate. More circles.
Repeat, again and again. I sit at the table, picking
apart my chicken with a salad fork, turning words
over in my head, trying to find the right way to say,
I don’t like the way you talk to me. You really hurt me,
but when they come out I know they won’t be graceful-
they’ll tumble out with bitter hot steam and angry tears,
and she’ll yell back and slam another dish onto the rack.
I don’t know how to talk to my mother anymore-
we seem to have lost that ability years ago, with
those little lunch dates at Subway in Old Towne Glendale
while my brother was at karate across the street.
We tore apart pastrami sandwiches and the softest
chocolate chip cookies long before we tore apart each other.
The sweetness of those summer days and hour-long
conversations shriveled and died with the seasons;
when she’d pick me up from school, I’d see that same
scowl, already printed on her face. She stopped asking
how my day went, and I stopped lying that it was good.
We rode out the rest of those car rides, those meals,
and every day after, in silence.
Wanda DeglaneWanda Deglane is a capricorn from Arizona. She is the daughter of Peruvian immigrants and attends Arizona State University, pursuing a bachelor’s degree in psychology and family & human development. Her poetry has been published or forthcoming from Rust + Moth, Glass Poetry, L’Ephemere Review, and Former Cactus, among other lovely places. Wanda is the author of Rainlily (2018), Lady Saturn (Rhythm & Bones, 2019), and Venus in Bloom (Porkbelly Press, 2019).
T // @Wandalizabeth W // Wanda Deglane |