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 