The first time I met his mother
It was new year’s eve
And I was nervous
We sat around the dinner table
All twenty of his relatives
And me, his soon-to-be wife
And she whispered,
“don’t be”
The second time I met his mother
We sat by the window
In a hospital waiting room
In addition to the cigarette burns
On her caramel skin
The third degree burns on her heart
Were singeing
On my third encounter with the lawyer
His mother came to see me
Hating me for leaving
Because she knew she never could
However hard I did avoid her
I saw her one more time
When the fates put
His father’s body in the ground
Through fake tears I saw her smirking
Like she did when they buried him
I’m so sorry
Is all I whispered
Lying through my teeth
With poker face and steady voice
She whispered back
“Don’t be”
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