I was lucky --
one of those girls
who could say
"my mother is my
best friend" and
not draw laughs
we were companions,
easy talkers, going
to the beach or to shop
no awkward silences
no reprimands
just conversation
now we drive together
to the bookshop,
her only independent
outing sans my father,
and the silence
is deafening. long
pauses that I must fill
with the radio or with
forced talk, talk that I
always start, about my
son or my husband or
the weather or what she
is reading right now
(her answer always starts
with "let's see ...")
so when we were on our way
to the bookstore yesterday,
and I had the radio on,
and her voice piped up
out of nowhere, I hit the
radio's off button fast. "What?"
"My sister has to have
an operation on her eyes."
"Another one?" I blurt out
without thinking; my aunt
had cataract surgery
six months ago.
"No, not another one.
Oh.
I don't think so."
more silence,
and I wonder,
is this what stops her? fear
that she will speak of something
and I'll know she's jumbled
reality, that she is unsure,
that she sometimes
sees the past
as the future?
defeated, I turn on
the radio again.
making conversation
is too hard.
the awkward silences
are pouring on now,
as if to make up
for lost time.
