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More poems by Ellen Bryant VoigtEllen Bryant Voigt | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by Ellen Bryant VoigtBooks by Ellen Bryant Voigt

Lesson

Ellen Bryant Voigt

Whenever my mother, who taught
small children forty years,
asked a question, she
already knew the answer.
"Would you like to" meant
you would. "Shall we" was
another, and "Don't you think."
As in "Don't you think
it's time you cut your hair."

So when, in the bare room,
in the strict bed, she said,
"You want to see?" her hands
were busy at her neckline,
untying the robe, not looking
down at it, stitches
bristling where the breast
had been, but straight at me.

I did what I always did:
not weep --she never wept--
and made my face a kindly
whitewashed wall, so she
could write, again, whatever
she wanted there.


Anonymous submission.

Added: 2 Jun 2002 | Last Read: 20 Jul 2018 2:36 PM | Viewed: 4743 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/4574/ | Viewed on 20 July 2018.
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