Waiting

When the guy in the dark suit

Asks me if I want to see my mother

As she lies in the back room, waiting,

I remember her, for some reason,

In a white swimsuit, on a yellow towel

On the sand at Crystal Lake,

Pregnant with my sister,

Waiting for me to finish examining

The sleek fuselage of a minnow,

The first dead thing I had ever seen,

Before we went back to the cottage for lunch.

 

I remember her waiting up for my father

To come home from God knows where

In a yellow cab at 2:00 AM

And waiting for me in the school parking lot

In our old blue station wagon

When whatever it was I was practicing for

Ran late. I remember her, shoulders thrown back,

Waiting in the unemployment line, waiting

For me to call, waiting for the sweet release

In the second glass of wine

After a long day working at the convalescent hospital

Where everyone was waiting to die.

 

And I remember her waiting for me

At the airport when I got back from Japan,

Waiting for everything to be all right,

Waiting for her biopsy results.

Waiting.

 

But when the guy in the dark suit

Asks if I would like to go back

And be with her in that room where she lies

Waiting to be cremated I say No

Thank you, and turn and walk out

Onto the sunny street to join the crowd

Hustling down the sidewalk

And I look up at the beautiful

White clouds suspended above the city,

Leaving her in that room to wait alone,

For which I will not be forgiven.

George Bilgere, Missouri Review September 1, 2001