Memories flit close,
dart away:
I’m sitting at the kitchen table
bony knees to flat chest,
feet on chair’s edge,
chair on curled linoleum.
My mother pours coffee
to include me, my cup
small, mostly sugar.
Her brisk movements,
a butter churn, a bubbling pot,
a universe she kept on course.
Older, I see weary eyes,
Note her smile stalls,
half formed. Older,
in dark nights, I hear
jealous rages, threats
of damage or death.
Older, I know her heart
broke long before I
washed ashore, one more
girl seeking safe passage
through a world
seething with men.
---
Peggy Hammond’s recent poems appear or are forthcoming in Pangyrus Literary Magazine, The Comstock Review, For Women Who Roar, Fragmented Voices, The Sandy River Review, Moonstone Arts Center’s anthology Protest 2021, and elsewhere. A Best of the Net nominee, her chapbook The Fifth House Tilts is due out fall 2022 (Kelsay Books).
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