Original Poem 5: Hats


This open form poem is about my mother. She underwent brain surgery when I was about 4 or 5 and was unable to drive. To get around town, she pulled my 2 year old brother and me around in a red wagon.

I wrote this in the fall of 2009.


A mother in recovery

knows nothing but uncertainty.

Her dark brown hair will grow again

and curl to hide the plateau line,

although for now her neck grows cold

without its under tows. Along

her head are metal tracks, composed

of staples, cold and flat. And so

for months she wears nice hats,

like Derby women with easy lives.

And like a horse she pulls her colts

on wagon wheels across the town.

Her calves grow stronger week by week,

her shoes worn down, her children large

and tiresome. But when the kids

are old enough to walk beside

their merry mom, her mane is long

and she is glad to rid herself

of woven hats,

feeling a sense of certainty.

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