Poetry M - Z > Whittenberg, Allison
Poems by Allison Whittenberg
Coats
by Allison
Whittenberg
When my mother was young,
she was rich
So rich that her father bought
her a coat
Straight from a well known department
store
At ten after closing time by
knocking on the window
And shaking a hand full of money
at the manager.
It was a prepossessing
coat.
Georgia clay red with a furry
collar.
When my mother got a little
older, her family was poor
And her mother and her had to
share a coat. One had to wait
for the
other to come in, order to go
out.
It was a hideous coat.
Dull, black like something a
pallbearer would wear.
When mother passed away,
My sister and I quarrel over
her belongings
One coat, particularly.
It was chic
camel-colored, cinching at the
waist.
My father threw salt,
Saying it looked better on me
Through persistence, I won it.
She was a disguised, mostly
silent woman.
What I know of my mother, I glean
from thread.
End
Notes
by Allison
Whittenberg
On that gorgeous spring
day
The strong sun mocks
It was so close to her
June birthday
Couldn't she have lasted two
more weeks?
Who knew she a timebomb?
Who knew she had this hidden
defect?
I should have been born
clairvoyant.
That day, distant relations
ate sloppily
Macaroni salad slid off their
spoons onto their chins
They made it a party
There was chicken: fried, braised,
broiled, roasted
So much damn food
Anger is my favorite part
of the grief process
I do it well
The hincty lady down the
street came by fussing
for her pan
She had left her pan
She had to have her pan
I'd lost a person; she'd lost
a pan
I gave her her pan,
Told her where to shove it,
Slammed the door
I was old enough to know
that pets, flowers, people
die
But not mothers
Daddy's usual husky, tender
voice offered no solace
He crumbled like toast
My brother contacted his
therapist
My sister still walks
around with her face
Daffodils bloomed
And Otis Reading played
on the stereo that Fa Fa
Fa Fa sad song
Feeling
Their Age
by Allison
Whittenberg
often I wonder
where my real father is
especially
when he is right in front of
me
who is
this silver haired man
with the blurry voice
this man with an uneven gait
deep lines around his mouth
where is
the man that appeared
strong, tall
the man who could flatten hills
arrange stars
mother has a new child
someone else to clothe
she is old, but recognizable
she gets up early
still paints her lips red
she bakes biscuits
parcels out medication in tins
her brown skin sags
her hands are smooth
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