Mother Hanging the Laundry

Mother Hanging the Laundry

My brother tells me his stories, her

Sucking of the emotions, deep holes

Her illness must have left inside us.

Nothing was there that was not true;

But I remember how crisply the wet

Sheets snapped in the January wind,

She hauling the basket out from the

Basement, me tunneling and sledding

With unrehearsed joy, until she called

Me inside to hear the old poet blinking

In the shattered daylight, and then the

New President asking me what I can do

For my country, opening a hole I did not

See, which let in the new, terrible winds

Blasting my hopes right into this century,

Leaving me more alive and just as helpless.