Mother’s Day

by Elizabet Stevens

When you are dead
the smell of hyacinths
will bring you back

Remember the day
we saw otters slapping their bellies
on the ice curling and uncurling
like acrobatic commas

Remember that house
so close to the sea waves splashed
on front room windows

I slept in an attic near the moon
stars kept me awake
snow fell on my hair

I played in the rigging
of yachts skippered by cool guys
one walked tilting to starboard
then port fore and aft
sometimes he hit bottom

He taught me to play Crazy Eights
showed me the proper fork
said pronounce your t’s then
vanished like the others

When you are dead
I will plant hyacinths
blue hyacinths and
I will forgive you