The First Time I Met His Mother

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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