Hope
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Mom stood
by the kitchen sink,
the receiver clutched
in one hand and a bouquet
of crumpled tissues
in the other, as I overheard
her conversation
with Dr. Kreth.
I clutched
the grocery bag closer,
hearing the clink
of bottles as the coffee struck
the pickle jar. I set the bag
down on the cold, stone counter
as she hung up.
I plucked out
a parade
of canned peaches,
instant coffee,
and Polish dills.
I showed
her the bottled dog shampoo
and read its praises.
It was good for sensitive skin
and our mop
of a silver schnauzer
would smell like some exotic
Hawaiian plant I couldn’t pronounce.
I reached
for her hand. The one
once twining
sweetheart roses in my hair for
my first communion
and holding me after
my first swimming lesson
when Dad died.
She answered
with an upturned corner
of faded rose lips,
a smile of sorts,
and transferred
the shampoo bottle
from my hand
to hers.
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Phyllis Hemann
Phyllis Hemann grew up reading and telling stories. As a child, she scribbled poems with crayons. Now she writes her own for children and adults. She studied creative writing and theology, and holds a M.F.A. from Antioch University Los Angeles. Her work has appeared in newspapers, journals and anthologies. She is the author of “The Invisible Heroine” (Finishing Line Press). She lives in the South with her family and goofy dog.
Find Phyllis on Facebook, Instagram, Bluesky, and her website.
