What I Learned From My Mother

I learned from my mother is how to love

the living , to have plenty of vases on hand

in case you have to rush to the hospital

with peonies cut from the lawn, black ants

still stuck to the buds. I leaned to save jars

large enough to hold fruit salad for a whole

grieving household, to cube home-canned pears

and peaches, to slice through maroon grape skins

and flick out the seeds with a knife point.

I learned to attend viewings even if I didn’t know

the deceased, to press the moist hands

of the living, to look in their eyes and offer

sympathy, as though I understood loss even then.

I learned that whatever we say means nothing,

what anyone will remember is that we came.

I learned to believe I had the power to ease

awful pains materially like and angel.

like a doctor, I learned to create

from another’s suffering my own usefulness, and once

you know how to do this, you can never refuse.

to every house you enter, you must offer

healing: a chocolate cake you baked yourself,

the blessing of your voice, your touch.

Julia Kasdorf