by Malcolm Glass
You sat still under a water oak
waiting to hear the mockingbird
because your mother told you
of her many songs: Listen.
So many birds. Your mother,
her hands covered with flakes
of biscuit dough, or holding
cold towels to break a fever,
who barked ragged words like
difficult, obstinate, exasperating,
kept scrapbooks of your programs
from concerts and high school plays,
and nagged you to write Christmas
thank-you’s before Valentine’s.
She who knitted sweaters too bulky
for Florida weather and mittens
too small, sleeps now under this oak
where you sit, looking for nests hidden
in Spanish moss, listening for songs.
Malcolm Glass has published fifteen books of poetry and non-fiction. His work has appeared in many journals, including Poetry, The Sewanee Review, and The Write Launch. In 2018, Finishing Line Press published his chapbook Mirrors, Myths, and Dreams; and next year this press will release his triple-hybrid collection, Her Infinite Variety.