Wednesday, September 14, 2011


My mother combed her hair
    in a light so dim
she had trouble seeing her reflection

    in the square mirror.
She sure could have used a brighter bulb
    but what did I, punk kid,

know about poor—I was happy.
    When she was done
my mother put the brush in a tray,

crossed her arms and waited
    for my father to come home.
He was late, always late

    but he always came back,
always knocking on the door
    as if it were for the first time.

About Tim Suermondt:
Tim Suermondt has published two full-length poetry collections: TRYING TO HELP THE ELEPHANT MAN DANCE, The Backwaters Press, 2007 and JUST BEAUTIFUL, New York Quarterly Books, 2010.  He does not have an MFA in anything either and lives in Brooklyn with his wife, the poet Pui Ying Wong.

No comments:

Post a Comment