My mother died a few weeks ago. It was expected. She suffered for years with Alzheimer’s. My grief for her loss has happened over time. I feel relief now that she is no longer suffering. Nevertheless, we had to clean out her room at the memory care home where she’s been for two years. Many of her clothes were soiled and worn. Most of them were trashed. Some we gave away. I was grateful for my husband who was with me. He hauled the trash bags to the dumpster.
When I came upon a hanger of silk scarves, I couldn’t bear to give them away. I don’t even know why they were still there. So while Jeff was taking out the trash, I tucked them away in a box to bring home. I wore one to a funeral last weekend and felt comforted.
Silk Scarves
I saved her silk scarves,
each one a bright
replica of art.
I couldn’t bear to place
such brightness
into a black trash bag.
We worked quickly
making choices to give away
or throw away. Why?
I asked myself
did these scarves call to me?
I remember when appearances
were important to my mother.
She never left the house without
coordinating clothes, make-up, jewelry.
The end erased who she had been.
Lord knows I don’t need
any more scarves.
Tiffany stained glass (butterflies)
will soften my neck
above the black dress.
Margaret Simon, draft
This poem was written in response to an Ethical ELA Open Write prompt found here.
Reflections on the Teche 
I’m sorry. We are facing a similar situation. It is hard to see a life so vibrant fall into forgetfulness. I’m glad it brought you comfort to wear the scarf and you will likely feel that way when you see it at home as well. Little things can bring back such intense memories. And inspire great poems.
I have one of my grandmother’s silk scarves. It’s not my style, but it was hers, and I love it because of that. This poem is just perfect. It allows us readers to put it on our own experience–like a scarf. We/I understand because we’ve been there.
Margaret, I am so sorry for the loss of your mother, both gradual and immediate. I love that you saved a piece of something that reminded you of who she once was. A few days ago, I was purging some old cookbooks, and I found a note from my mother who passed away 14 years ago. It was as if she had just sent it. She said she saw this cookbook and thought of me. Although I did donate the cookbook, I took the note, covered it with contact paper, and slid it between the pages of the book I am reading now. Comfort comes in small doses.
I love “comfort comes in small doses.” So true.
So sorry for your loss, Margaret. I believe the scarves will bring you comfort and keep your mother’s memory close. “The end erased who she had been” in particular spoke to me. It was the same for me when my mother passed away.
Great ending, Margaret. Did the end erase it? I hope you can find who she was again. xo
Tabatha, I’m beginning to go back to my childhood memories of her. But it’s hard not to think of how frail and small she was at the end. Thanks.
(Apologies if this comment reposts, WordPress and I are having a disagreement today.)
I wanted to thank you for sharing this beautiful poem – it reminds me so much of my grandmother, with her thirty-seven pairs of shoes and coordinating pant suits and kerchiefs and how, in the last ten years of her life when she lived with our family, she faded from being that person. I wish I had something of hers that was as vibrant and beautiful as those scarves – may they brighten and soften the memories for you, and may they be a blessing.
Thank you for sharing this poem. I hope the scarves bring you comfort and allow you to wrap yourself in her love.
Margaret, I’m glad you saved her silk scarves and that they comfort you. Your poem is beautiful and moving. Your first line brought me back to memories of my mother wearing her bright scarves. I saved quite a few of them even though I don’t usually wear a scarf indoors. I love this line “each one a bright / replica of art.” I resonated with your third stanza a lot.
“Tiffany stained glass (butterflies)
will soften my neck
above the black dress” is the perfect ending.
Thank you for sharing this poignant poem and the link. I imagine seeing and wearing your mother’s scarves will bring back good memories of her.
Those scarves will become the portal that allows you to replace your recent memories of a frail and fading mother with the one who was strong and as vibrant as the silk. It takes time. I see Mom in the kitchen, the garden, and at her sewing machine far more often now than I see her on her deathbed.
Beautiful, heartfelt poem to your Mom, Margaret, it has a flowing conversational feeling, and inviting ending opening the door of your own memories of her to come. I go to that place for my Dad, in memory, and our joy we shared—He too became so very thin and frail, though he tried to smile with me all the way till the end, xox.
The grief remains, despite its early visits. It echoes in this gorgeous reflection of who your mom was and who you are as you grapple with her passing. Sending hugs xoxo
Oh Margaret, those scarves. So beautiful to wear one to her funeral. I’m so sorry for your loss. Even though it’s expected, my heart is with you as you process your grief.
A beautiful and touching poem, Margaret. I understand the draw of those lovely scarves. My mother had some beautiful, colorful scarves too, and after she passed away last year, my sister and I each kept one and my daughters each wanted one too. It’s a lovely, tangible memory that reminds us of the vibrant woman she once was. My deep condolences to you, Margaret. xo