What I remember,


what I want her to remember

 …
 what you can work with


are these:


youth, a lakeside town, routine mornings,


slick footpaths, the open lips


of a lake and muddy banks red


as fish gills, and stones


strangely shaped like …


like turtle heads, and a slow fog


feathering like threadbare scarves


around her hair. This young mother, mine,


has laundry angled on her hip,


has a toddling daughter – me

– 
who’s ahead of her, not very far, but far enough,


like now …


The girl should skip and sway


holding a palo-palo – she promised to be helpful

– 
and a little pail of kittens


for drowning …


For color, don’t hold back


on the green-blue of the lake …


is all I see clearly now really,


but maybe not too clearly now


that I’m old too … If anything,


you can wash it all a blue-grey


since I am only working from fading


clarity … and I understand, your style


is realistic.



Note: a palo-palo is a paddle used for squeezing water out of laundry.

This poem first appeared in Misfit Magazine, 18, 2016