Glenn Wright

Memorare

My mother prays before the rec room’s idol —
the television mounted on the wall.
Confused, she mouths a mumbled, rushed recital;
the wheelchair and the blankets make her small.

The contents of her lap fall at her feet —
a rosary and a dog-eared holy card.
I pick them up for her.  Our glances meet.
I’m stung by her suspicious disregard.

She takes the beads and turns away.  I carry
the holy card with me as we roll towards
her bedroom.  It is the Immaculate Heart of Mary,
wreathed with roses and pierced with seven swords.

Glenn Wright is a retired teacher living in Anchorage, Alaska with his wife, Dorothy, and their dog, Bethany. He writes poems to ruminate, to celebrate, and sometimes to keep from driving his fist through the drywall.  His work has recently appeared in Muse, The Rumen, The Amethyst Review, October Hill, Gemini Magazine, and other journals.