The Patricia I Used To Know

She had brown hair like my mother's
Slightly curled like soft cotton candy
Styled in her polished, reflective backskin coat being "bad to the bone"
Secured with silkness of blossomed petals of old-fashion life
Wrapped around her thick, short-stemmed, sagging root to her family looks

We stood the same highest elevation
Always seeing her slowly scrambling about with her edgy, short husband
Taking them both a few hours to shop one weekend per week
Stocking up necessities to last for about 168 hours
Always deals with her "clubcard" when reimbursing her costly grocery bills
Too fragile to raise intense grocery bags to her grey, old car
Walking her slow blues, draggy, pointy low heels to her needed destination
While I patiently assist her with her food parties

Sympathetic to her suffering of her last few years of reality
I grumble about my necesary and unnecessary existence of my reality
Like dirt and oil-paint suffering death
Until the end of naturalness
I fret her life
What will her and I expect right this minute?
That I know nothing but her Saturday errands and problems?
When will I see her, when I have abandoned my dedication of her last few years
On this disastorous planet
How is she?
Tell her spirits in the sky that i love her and miss her
Like a close grandma, taking in a last fresh breath of life
Before departing forever


Written at 4/18/02
Copyright 2002 Molly Zaloudek. All Rights Reserved.