BY JOAN LEOTTA
Copyright is held by the author.
We argued before I left home
to go and live with him in Spain.
Then, as she had predicted,
the feckless boy left
me, and I was alone, trying to
re-assemble scattered bits
of a shattered life.
As time brought perspective,
hoping to repair the family breach,
I bought my mother
a blue alabaster vanity jar.
Shop girl assured
me it would arrive on time.
It did arrive on time
but she had not wrapped it well.
Later, I learned, my mother
had opened a box full of blue
alabaster shards rattling about
in an unpadded box.
Not willing to upset me,
dear mother sent a thank you,
inviting me to come home
to see the jar in its new situ.
She then took action with a tube of glue.
After hours of matching piece to piece.
She reassembled that blue jar, piecing
together as well the puzzle
of our hurt feelings.
When I finally returned, I marvelled at the jar
residing in its place of honour on her vanity.
“I don’t remember all those
extra lines in the alabaster,” I said.
Mom confessed her repair and I saw
those extra lines for what they were —
marks of her love for me.