Today I Was Her Dad Though Tonight She Asks Me Where The Man Is Who Raked Leaves

[Billy]

Today I Was Her Dad Though Tonight She Asks Me
Where The Man Is Who Raked Leaves

She got out of bed today.
I asked her to help me
in the yard, surprised
that she said yes.
She raked ulu leaves
into a pile of crumbling
softball mitts.
After five minutes, she tired,
sat in the lawn chair
examining her fingernails
as if other worlds
brood at the gnawed edges,
which she does when she's not
rubbing her bed for hours
like the Eskimos do
when they rub clockwise
one stone against another
waiting for a vision.
Home Boy jumped on her lap,
coaxed her red-blotched,
dried, and flaking hand
from out of its sleeve
to scratch behind his ear.
She was no longer Shania
or a black woman, or unable
to answer, or a forty year old
daughter with many names.
She thanked me for
helping her in the yard.

[FranktheFrank]

Sweet, real, I was drawn into the poem.
I prefer your concrete poems, Billy.

[CalebMurdock]

I like the smooth language of the poem, but I'm not sure who the protagonist is. It sounds like it might be a person with dementia; but if so, it isn't clear to me what the speaker's relationship to her is. The fact that she has a "red-blotched, dried, and flaking hand" makes me think it might be your mother. I can't tell from your picture how old you are now. If you are a senior citizen like me, then you might be talking about your wife. In any event, I think the poem is well written.

[Billy]

Thanks Frank, Caleb, for reading and commenting

[BobBradshaw]

Excellent poem, Billy. I have read it a number of times, and it gets better with each read. No nits. A poignant piece. The ending is just right.

[CalebMurdock]

Actually, that's true for me too. I don't know where I got the idea that she might have dementia (unless you've changed the poem). Also, it's now clear to me who the protagonist is, and the speaker too.

It often takes me several readings to fully absorb a poem, especially if it's long. My comprehension is (and always has been) slow. I agree that this is a good poem, with natural, free-flowing language -- and warmth too.

The speaker is her father (right?) and Home Boy is the dog (although my name means "dog" in Hebrew, and I do like to be scratched behind the ear).