Boxing With Your Mom Poem by Eugene Ethelbert Miller

You push the door open not knowing
what to expect. She sits in a chair next
to her hospital bed. Just sitting. How long?
Before you can even enter the room a big
smile of recognition kisses her lips before
she kisses you. Her seamstress eyes survey
your clothes. You're a rhinestone of a son
slipping between her shaking hands. As the
sparkle leaves her eyes she withdraws under
her hospital robe. So small she looks. So
small she is. You want to leave but you just
came. It's just you and her. You're overmatched.
Her moods change so quick you can't avoid
her jabs. There's bitterness in each blow. She
has you against the wall. You're fighting with
her again. This is sick you say to yourself.
You want to leave but the bell never rings.
You're trying to love her too much. You're
losing another round.