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Just Sold!

Carrying a box of African violets
that had decorated the counter
by the cash register, Mom drifted
through the living room,
dabbing tears from her eyes.

Visiting her from Boston
to celebrate the sale
of the package store,
I sat on the sofa,
giving myself a manicure.

Only 21, I wondered why
she wasn’t reaching
for the Brut in the fridge,
rather than fussing
with pots of silly flowers.

What’s wrong with you?
We should be drinking the champagne,
I whined.
It’s the end of a chapter, she sighed,
arranging the plants on the end table.

I cringe as I see myself then:
Her oldest child, reclining
against a batted cushion,
fanning the air
with my wet nails.

—
Joan Bernard’s poetry has been published in Amethyst Review, The Main Street Rag, the Aurorean, Connecticut River Review, North American Review, and others. She lives in Boston, MA.

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Chiricahua Moon by Jeffrey Richardson
Two Aphorisms by Tom Revson

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