CORRINE BINNINGS
It seems my mother has always been young
vibrant, and strong willed
threatening to dash piss
on the neighborhood bully who skipped
us in line at the standpipe
promising to chop up the nasty
rasta man who smiled too long at us
on his way through our community
playing dandy shandy snakes and ladders
wagering peanuts in weekend card games
finding a dollar where none was planted
making a way out of overgrown situations
Now at 70 she is the image of my deceased grandmother
mouth mashed like fritters without false teeth
hands clumsy and feet unsteady
shoulders drooping lower hurting
harder carrying forgotten memories
dependent on me to tie her lace
straighten her collar plait thinning
hair carry her heaviest loads
hold her hand up the stairs
down the stairs
make her tea
dish her daily doses of patience and grace
now that I am her mother I struggle to carry
my world and my mother together
like she carried me
afraid and alone