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Text: Poem: Susan Spaeth Cherry
You were always Mother’s favorite.
She welcomed you
like a neon doormat,
nuzzling your newbornness
while I dangled from her shirtwaist like a disconnected thread.
She let you lick the beaters,
watch the Beaver past your bedtime. She ribboned your ringlets,
filling your pearl-lobed goblets with her secrets.
She exalted your C’s
and tore the praise for my A’s
from the family hymnal.
She drank your salty rivers
when you finger-nailed your flesh
believing when you blamed the blood on me.
She joined you in the bridal dance, whirling through the tuxes,
dreaming champagne lunches
on your terrace by the sea, the way she knew it was to be.
You were always Mother’s favorite.
She passes me your photo
as I plunk the folded laundry
on her plastic covered couch.
I graze upon your grayness,
your spreading spouse,
your vulture children
poised to prey on Grandmother’s estate.
“You haven’t done the shopping,” she complains, and puts the snapshot in a silver frame.
1999,from Hole to Whole, Chicago Spectrum Press.
Reprinted with permission.
PERFORMANCE SUGGESTIONS: Interesting set with variety in styles and tempos
Three is a Crowd 3:16
Hold On Loosely 3:35
Music in My Dreams 2:40
