TO MOTHER I When I visited you In this morning's Dream, You lived In an elegant Old high-rise High atop a steep, Elliptical hill. The sides Of the hill itself Were built up With decorative Walls and terraces, All the way down, And below the terrace At the foot of the hill Yawned a great precipice, And below that, the city. It was a great, vast view Of a city like St. Louis Only greater, with the green Dome of the New Cathedral And lots of red-roofed, Florentine-style public Buildings, and thousands Of residences that looked Colorful and interesting. High up in the high-rise Your graceful apartment Adjoined a little boutique That you ran. II Ah, Mother, My first years I scarcely remember you, And after that you Were a lion Who stalked me And slayed me, And then for years You wore those tight Flower-print pants And slapped my face Hard, whenever I Talked back to you. Now, you command A cultured city Like a queen, At least in the geography Of my subconscious. III While most preoccupied With my own change, I've watched you change. When I was ten, For reasons I assume Were mainly financial, You got a part-time Librarian's job At the School of Art And Architecture. I went there with you On Saturdays, sometimes. You showed me how To recognize A Renoir or Monet. It was a quiet place, A classic building On a campus Brushed with trees. In twenty years You had become Head librarian Of the busy Clayton Library, In that suburb Of glass and steel, Without even A Library Science Degree, and a skillful Hostess to sophisticated Businessmen and cultured Ladies. Now, retired, When you had us To lunch on our Visit last month, You'd set our fork and knife Above our plates In an inverted "V", And stabbed the spoon into Each little bowl of sorbet So it stood up like A telephone pole On a Kansas plain all Covered in orange snow. You're a Mondrian, A Kandinsky Of the luncheon table. Perhaps the abstract drapes Designed by Frank Lloyd Wright That you hung in our Living room when I was growing up Made you a modern artist. Or maybe it's Just as you say, Your daily Exercise That keeps your brain And body fit. III And in my dream All was harmonious Between us, or at least, Communication flowed, Until I mentioned GOD. And you said angrily, "Why Bring GOD into everything?" Mother, don't you Know, I see GOD When I look at you!
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