Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Winter stories about my mother

//My 78 year old mother is a heavy set, anxious woman
With a propensity for head spins and passing out in crowds//

~~ Picture her voluptuous ~ rolling ~ undulating form as she falls>~~

" Don't worry!!!!  + Fainting on public transit* is just my blood sugar's way of getting my attention...and I  get to meet the all the good folks who come to my rescue!"
On one of my Winter visits, she befriends a stranger on a bus

I witness her over-heating and over-empathizing ways
A bad news magnetism that solicits his lament 
As they stand shoulder to shoulder rocking back and forth with the horde
Her eyes slowly beginning to dissociate as the intensity of his story mounts
Beneath an unbelievably tight girdle~bra and under layers of full winter garb
Her body begins to swell with heat and contract with resistance

Later she feels dizzy and we sit on a bench in the snow

She tells me about her Father. 

~He's been dead for 40 years//nevertheless// she still takes his bad advice##
~Being a man of his times ;;; he was certain that every good woman should:::
~Strap her soft and bulging parts into a proper restraining garment.
~Those who did not do so thoroughly disgusted him ~

    there's nothing I can say...

Later that season on a usual morning after absentmindedly eating half a pear...

she puts on her gear and delves into the fast moving river of the crowd 

outside the safe isolation of her apartment ;;;; the pear being just enough to jack up her blood sugar ;;;; sending it spiking and then ( at the typically bad time )  crashing///// just a she is ascending the mall escalator == Her body giving into the dizzy spell as her lungs are barely expanding against the formidable resistance of her D cup brazier>><<The backward falling of her hefty mass is broken by  three unfortunate strangers who she will later refer to as her angelic saviors ~~~ she feels her body cradled and it pleases her ^^^ She takes refuge in the strength of their arms when they huddle around her and yell "Call 911!" as they remove the taut fabric of her skirt from the sandwiching pull of metal while the moving staircase delivers them to the top floor where there are more angels who again cry out "911!"   One of them holds her head ))) another takes her hand ((( She gives them permission to unbutton her coat +unhook her bra+///  She feels the rise and fall of her chest}}} 

Bulges  sagging  unharnessed ~~~ everything at ease.+


note: after writing this poem i felt very dizzy and had to lay on the floor with my head on my dog's belly


  1. I really really like this. It hooks me, keeps me there throughout, curious and compelled. It has the juiciness for me of live storytelling performance, the dynamic of font and style like the flux of a spoken voice in front of an audience. Sometimes in poetry, I mind an overuse of words and feel wrong when an economy of syllables isn't observed--but not here. I love the size and pour of this poem, its ampleness and its willingness to express and express. All to say, wow!

  2. Thanks for the reflections and feedback, Daniel:) !'s fun to get the mirroring.

    Yes...i did go on and on... there was speed and a feeling of anxiety as i wrote...there was that need to fill and fill and fully describe....kind of like the Persian carpet-like densely repetitive, patterned weave of the character that i was storying about ( my nutty, Jewish Moroccan mama ):):):)