Mothers

the last time i was home to see my mother we kissed exchanged pleasantries and unpleasantries pulled a warm comforting silence around us and read separate books i remember the first time i consciously saw her we were living in a three room apartment on burns avenue mommy always sat in the dark i don't know how i knew that but she did that night i stumbled into the kitchen maybe because i've always been a night person or perhaps because i had wet the bed she was sitting on a chair the room was bathed in moonlight diffused through those thousands of panes landlords who rented to people with children were prone to put in windows she may have been smoking but maybe not her hair was three-quarters her height which made me a strong believer in the samson myth and very black i'm sure i just hung there by the door i remember thinking: what a beautiful lady she was very deliberately waiting perhaps for my father to come home from his night job or maybe for a dream that had promised to come by "come here" she said "i'll teach you a poem: i see the moon the moon sees me god bless the moon and god bless me" i taught it to my son who recited it for her just to say we must learn to bear the pleasures as we have borne the pains