Vox Populi
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Tony Gloeggler: Honestly
To pass the hours I spend
by her bedside, I ask mom
a lot of questions, some dumb
to make her laugh about farts
on elevators, falls in hotel halls,
her famous poor eyesight,
walking into wrong bathrooms,
setting her beehive hair-do
on fire with her lit cigarette,.
Anything to take her mind
off her pain, a breath
from boredom. Some questions
uncover things I never knew
or remind me of a few
I’ve forgotten: Uncle Dom
coming over on the boat
from Italy without polio,
Cousin Louie, who I never
liked, losing his leg in the war,
Grandpa’s arranged marriage
back in Naples, sneaking
away after he met his bride,
Sunset Pool, the roaring lions
pouring water out of their mouths,
the Sunday I nearly drowned,
Daddy giving me mouth to mouth.
.
I’ll place a bowl of Cheez-Its
in her lap, drop a Milk Dud
or Jordan Almond, spoon melon
into her mouth. Sometimes
I’ll ask who’s her funniest,
prettiest friend, her smartest,
kid, press her for the truth,
ask what she remembered
about my girlfriends. Julia
the most beautiful, Helen’s
bright blue eyes, the perfect
mother for Jesse, but Erica
was the one for me. Right
on all three. I’ll ask what
she likes most about each
of her kids. When she gets
to me, she says honesty,
I always tell the truth.
.
In between, my sister
comes down. We switch
mom’s position, clean
her ass after she craps,
sponge bathe her, apply
creams and baby powder
as she screams and cries
we’re killing her, she’s cold,
cover her, hurry, help her,
over and over and I’ll say
I’m sorry, we’re doing all
we can. Finally, calm again,
we’ll talk about dinner, baked
ziti, cheese macaroni, a stromboli,
all recent favorites. As the sun
goes down, she grows irrational,
more fearful, asks me to stay.
I say I’ve been here all day,
explain I’ll be back Saturday
and she’ll tell me she never
knew I could be so mean,
that nobody cares about her,
nobody does anything for her,
nobody has any compassion,
I only come out of obligation,
that I’m so happy to be going
home. I lean over, kiss her,
tell her I’ll be back before
she knows, get some sleep,
and leave. Honestly.
Copyright 2022 Tony Gloeggler
Tony Gloeggler’s books include What Kind of Man (NYQ Books, 2020). He is a life-long resident of New York City.
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I love how this poem moves. I’m right there at my own mom’s bedside.
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Yes. Me too.
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What a true poem/poet ❤️💔
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The honesty sings through the poems.
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Yes, I believe the voice of Tony’s poems: just a regular guy talking about things he cares about, and the virtuosity of rhythm and narrative is so subtle as to be invisible.
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I agree Vox Populi…
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Such a moving poem for anyone who has gone through this experience . . . and for those who haven’t.
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Yes, it is. Tony captures the experience perfectly
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This poem’s an achievement.
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Yes, it is.
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Powerful. My mother. Where I fear I’m going.
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Yes, we see our future in our aging parents.
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A devastating, moving poem.
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Such suffering. Ohh.
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Oh God, Tony:
Maybe this is my favorite poem of all. But its hard to say, as always you penetrate and arrive in the uncharted territory of the poem and heart alike as these unceasing days take us along to where we’re going to be dropped off for good.
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honestly. Phenomenal Tony. Such heart in this poem. (Carla Schwartz)
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