poems by Rena J. Mosteirin

Blog Archive

Monday, March 24, 2008

playing telephone

I was in Manuela home and she told she was no feeling so good.
When she no feel good, she believe something going to happen...

Abulea can’t hear me respond, so she just keeps going,
when I try to respond, she goes ah-ah yie, there’s something wrong on the phone,
I can no hear you, and then she keeps talking.
It’s different with my mother; she can hear me respond,
she just prefers to talk. Occasionally she pauses to ask direct questions
and when she does this, I say one sentence, two at the very most
and she immediately misconstrues my sentiment:

So you see Dad as a moldy humidifier?
That’s how I read the poem you e-mailed me this morning.
I didn’t really have that much time to read it though.
I just cooked two chickens. Good white meat leftovers,
so I can make Marc a nice chicken salad for lunch.
I pack his lunch, did you know that? And breakfast goes in the bag too sometimes.
Uncle Peter is jealous, he says- do you chew it for him too?
He’s just jealous that Peter, cause no one ever did that for him.
He makes fun of Marc, says you’re 26, you live at home, your Mother packs your lunch?
Jealousy is a green-toothed monster. Green.

No comments: