CLAIRE SCOTT

Which Half

Twenty three from you, my mother
half my body/mind
for sure my blue eyes
but not my right-handedness
which has made my life easier
than yours, you writing with a coiled hand
smearing ink across the page
for sure my burning, not tanning

At the beach, skin peeling
like potatoes going in with the roast
cooked by Thelma or Nettie or Bertha
over the years, but never you, my mother
who cooked only Chef Boyardee
and burnt lima beans on Sundays
when you got out of bed and shuffled
into the kitchen looking lost

For sure relentless insomnia 
nightmares galloping through 
my dreams, dark hearts beating
sleep possible only with pink pills of mercy 
like old friends stopping by
to return a book, then staying on for hours
for sure a love of flowers
you stopped the car every time 

We passed the Taylor’s garden
and cried out look at the delphinium
a flash of joy like a shooting star
but not the hidden bottles in your closet
not the threats of driving into the ancient
maple tree at the bottom of our street
not the sirens waking me, looking out
the window to see you taken away

Claire Scott is an award winning poet who has received multiple Pushcart Prize nominations. Her work has appeared in the Atlanta Review, Bellevue Literary Review, New Ohio Review, Enizagam and Healing Muse among others. Claire is the author of Waiting to be Called and Until I Couldn’t. She is the co-author of Unfolding in Light: A Sisters’ Journey in Photography and Poetry.