faces are not faces any more
but parts of the room
to her–a roomscape
with no sun ever setting
& the days uncharted
by anything but the brightness
of this fluorescent & linoleum reality
of a waiting room
overlooking a courtyard
where I can’t smoke
& walking is difficult
on bricks old & brittle
with winter
& her, thin as the twigs
exposed outside, barely sipping
the chocolate milkshake we brought
from the drivethrough
because even when starving herself absent
she would not refuse ice cream
I feed the woman
who fed me
though she does not remember
telling me
eat more than one pea
at a time, and please, please
stop slipping your macaroni
one piece at a time
over your fork tines. I can’t
watch you eat
yes, and I can’t threaten
to keep her meal for hours
melting
the way she did liver
& eggplant with me
so I tease, make her smile
for that 1 more taste
& she tells me
You’re not very good looking
when I pout
& she’s right
that day I wasn’t–
week 2 of sleeplessness waiting
for her to breathe out
that 1 last particle of self
& float into awareness
of who she was
again & how
my tired eyes
belonged to my father
whom she loved
& loved the echoes of him
in my face, when she
remembered echoes,
but now I embody me
a stranger she calls mother
because she sees me mother
my children
& her
every time we meet
she has forgotten, too
how she used to say
I was beautiful
Interesting Dverse prompt today using first-person narrative–infusing theater into poetry
Susan Daniels Poetry 
faces are not faces any more
but parts of the room…what an opening…hooked me right away…
have you read victorias? serious synergy going on….ugh on the way she treated you…the things said that stick with you and come back around when you become the caregiver…really great story telling…
Brian–
Yes, I just read Victoria’s and now I’m crying. Sheesh, good synergy though.
oh heck..what a touching write…so tough to see those that fed us so helpless…the part with your eyes belonging to your dad whom she loved..really moved me deeply..
thank you, Claudia. Thought I was done with the “Lois” poems–I have eight of them already. Guess not, though. Thanks for reading this.
outstanding piece Susan. Love the choices, the inner feeling you brought out so effectively in here. So many excellent lines as well. Really enjoyed the read. Thanks
Thanks so much–loved the prompt… Brought out something I thought I was done writing about.
This was good Susan. Sometimes you do youeself a disservice by thinking that you need to explain either the setting or the action outside of your poetics. Your words will do that work for you. Have confidence in them.>KB
KB, I agree, but I need to link back to Dverse when we are doing prompts over there… Otherwise, I agree.
Whew, it is so true that at the end of one’s mother’s life one so often becomes their mother too; and I suppose this will happen with the next generation as well. We just don’t like to think of it being us there with the roles reversed in so many ways. Sad. Realistic. Life.
Agreed, we don’t want to see ourselves in that role.
What a touching story Susan, great voice and emotional punch ~
Your ending lines are superb ~
Grace, thank you.
Very sad and touching poem, it’s the strangest transition being the carer of your parents, as I enter this time your words really hit home… wonderful write.
Dianne–thank you. It is painful, but also illuminating. Sending you my best thoughts.
Not easy at all is it, caring for someone you love. It is very draining both on the nerves and on the body too. Sad and, as I too cared for my life partner, deeply heart felt too.
Yes, agreed, Bren. We want to do it because we should, because we want to, and because it is a part of loving someone, but it does not make it any easier.
Vivid portrait of a daughter struggling to let go of a parent. That push pull of wanting suffering to end and wanting to find some way to make them better enough to stay a little longer. comes across perfectly in this line: week 2 of sleeplessness waiting
for her to breathe out
that 1 last particle of self
& float into awareness
of who she was
again
Thank you, Nara–yes, that’s it, exactly.
The more I read of you
The more I understand your fuel
As you write in the margins
So the contours of you
Are given as an accident
By inverted silhouette
I will never see your face
In the white paper that remains
Yet that void outlined by your art
Shows me the shape of your heart
Mike–
That’s just…beautiful
I have cut
heart shapes out of paper
folded & linked
like paper dolls
& like my own
they are fragile
are prone to repeat
certain patterns
& are easily stained
& you can see the shape of me
by what’s missing
You and Victoria are killing me (in a profound way!)
Julie–Ah, Victoria’s poem was what I read after I wrote this. Needless to say, I spent a good deal of time in my room, crying this afternoon. Amazing–you think you have cried enough but then find out you haven’t really.
I know.
So touching, brings tears to my eyes. Wonderful, Susan.
Laurie, thank you. Maybe now I have enough emotional strength to go back and read what the rest of you wonderful people came up with today. I am afraid at the slightest hint of emotion, I’ll start sniffling again…Read Victoria’s poem right after I finished writing this one.
I’m sorry… I know it must be difficult.
S’okay. Has been a long time. Victoria’s just hit me where I live–which is what good poetry can do sometimes.
Wow. Brilliant writing, Susan. Heartfelt and gut wrenching. We are almost at this point with Sherry’s mother, and Sherry’s dad passed away two years ago. I feel for you. It’s hard.
Thank you, Charles.This was a flashback to about 3 years ago–my thoughts are with you guys.
I’m glad to hear it’s not something you’re going through now.
Thanks, Charles.
wow. this is clarity. it is my new favorite of yours, Susan. you wrapped me in with the chocolate milkshake- so close to home. this is so much more than a slice of life. it is life. loss and love.
Jane, thank you. I have a series of poems regarding my mother’s illness, and I thought I was done writing them. Apparently not. Some things you just can’t close the book on that easily. Glad this spoke to oyu.
Beautiful poem, Susan. Agree with Brian that the beginning draws one in immediately. Very touching. k.
K–thanks so much for reading.
..i hate you because you wet my face… ha, of course i won’t hate you because you touched my heart… i do love my mum( no words can define how much..) and this so reminded me of my relationship with her..and if there’s one thing your poem leaves me after i read it it’s the promise to offer my love and care for my mum and yes for my dad as well full heartedly and endlessly… very..very moving… excellent.. smiles…
Oh, thank you. It was a tough poem to write, but so glad I shared it with you guys.
This is outstanding. I have been watching my life gradually moving toward the story you wrote in poetry. It was as if you wrote it for me personally. I’m glad I found your blog and your work will be on my regular radar. Thanks for sharing your gift. ~G
Oh, thank you so much.
I am glad this spoke to you and am happy to share my story with you!
Brave poet – to tackle what so many of us are scared to start. Beautiful evocation of the interchangeability of the daughter/parent roles.
Viv–thank you. Was not easy, but I had to pout it out there.
Your opening lines are tremendous, they ring through the whole poem. Remarkable write.
David, thank you. She was a remarkable woman.
Very touching indeed, Susan. The tenderness shown amongst the recollections is done very well.
Thanks so much.
So poignant, felt throughout my being. I don’t know what else to say but wish life granted more graceful exits.
Thank you, Nelle.
Me too.
Poignant and beautiful, Susan, the comments above say it all …
Thank you, Polly.
Oh Susan, this is so emotionally powerful and so beautifully written. There is such sadness in seeing those who cared for us now in need of our care, and more sadness still when they don’t know who we really are.
Tony, thank you. Agreed. Such a sad thing, and my heart goes out to all families who have experiences something like this.
Poignantly beautiful, Susan.
Thanks–this one was hard to write.