Happy Birthday, Mom
- Miriam Green
- Mar 2, 2025
- 2 min read
It's been a couple of minutes since I last wrote. What can I say? We're in a holding pattern. Mom is still relatively healthy, though we notice she sleeps more during the day. Often when we visit, it isn't easy to wake her. Sometimes she has conversations with us while her eyes are closed. In honor of Mom's 84th birthday, I am posting two poems that appeared in my book, The Lost Kitchen. We've been in this limbo for a very long time.
Mom, if you're out there somewhere, if your warm, colorful self somehow recognizes us, know that we love you. We always will.
Two Toothbrushes
She sang that crazy song
when I was five:
two toothbrushes fall in love,
marry in haste, share the same toothpaste.
How I’d brush and brush
just to keep her singing.
I am the blue toothbrush and she, the pink.
She is such a sweet toothbrush.
We’ve met somewhere before,
by the bathroom door
of my memory,
my elbow jutting gently into her side
with each brushing motion,
and once I was the pink toothbrush
glowing from her attentions,
my nylons bristling and whistling.
I tell myself this song keeps her healthy.
Or maybe I’m singing to relive that moment
when I was still her child.
Questions my Mother Asked, Answers my Father Gave Her
Where were you last night?
I was here, with you, though you thought I was your father.
Where were you last night?
Out dancing with my imaginary lover who never forgets my name.
Where are the children?
They are grown with children of their own. They live in their own homes.
Where are the children?
They are waiting in the silken sky for your goodnight kisses.
Do you want a cup of tea?
Not now. I’m busy. You made some an hour ago.
Do you want a cup of tea?
I want many things. I want to stand with you under the canopy and never look forward.
How many children did I give birth to?
You cradled them both in your arms, raised them to adulthood.
How many children did I give birth to?
Daughter earth is calling. Go gently to her.
Where are my keys?
I told you. Check the back pocket of your bag.
Where are my keys?
We are locked inside this room together.
Is it time yet?
We have plenty of time.
Is it time yet?
Yes, it is time.
Winner of the Reuben Rose Poetry Prize, 2013. Appeared in The AlzAuthors Poetry Anthology, 2024
From The Lost Kitchen: Reflections and Recipes from an Alzheimer’s Caregiver, Black Opal Books, 2019
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