Painting My Mothers Nails

An expression of grief.

I have been painting my Mothers fingernails for years.

We go through the same thing every time…

Hold your hand still Mom.

Lay your hand down Mom.

No Mom, don’t pick that glass up, I’ll hold it for you. Your nails are wet.

Don’t pick lint off your sweater Mom, your nails are wet.

It took a lot of patience on my part and I know on Mom’s too because sometimes I would catch her giving me the evil eye.

 

Mother had a massive stroke two weeks ago.

The left side of her body is paralyzed and still.

Today I polished her nails, starting with her right hand.

She strummed her right fingernails as soon as I painted them.

I gently placed my hand over hers.

 

 

Now her left hand. It is puffy, pale, and heavy, and I have to pick it up and move it myself.

No finger strumming, no reaching for her beverage.

I weep silent heart-tears and wish my Mother would aggravate me by picking lint off something, anything.

Reviews

[Sierra Lorraine]

Beautiful poem. It reminds me of my father who passed away recently. I used to wash his legs for him (he was too weak and sick to do it alone). He would really test my patience with his constant instructions. "No, Sierra, scrub that spot until it's clean..." "scrub harder..." "you're not doing it right..." "you're scrubbing too hard..."
It really aggravated me, but now I would scrub his legs 24/7 if I could just have him with me. I really enjoyed your poem.

[Lawrence]

Your writing is nice

[Angela]

quite lovely.

[John Knowles]

I absolutely love the flow of this, especially lines two and three in the first stanza. I also really like the repetition of phrases . It's also very moving. I'm sorry if this actually happened. Very beautiful.

[Saisha]

its beautiful and very powerful.
really well written.
hope you are fine.

[An Ordinary Woman]

Knowing you and having met her, this makes me cry. Your a beautiful person dear friend.

[Chloe..Across the Unive..]

What a powerful poem, in that it hits you in the gut.. Funny how our mothers can exasperate us so, then when something happens or they pass away we miss this and that 'evil eye'.. This is something so simple, painting nails, et you have made it seem so important.. because they are the mothers nails who can no long pick lint off a sweater or put a glass to her mouth because she isn't able to anymore.
I have written poems that were fiction , people thought were true so I am not sure if this is your imagination or it has happened. If so I am so sorry for you both.. you wrote this so well .. it is heartbreaking.

Chloe