Smother Poem by S.K. Bleakhouse

The fiftieth time she called, I hung up.
I thought 'I cannot take this any more.'
She left me six emails, a long letter,
a text and a voicemail. All these to say
couldn't I rest before I the baby came?

She is like a soft white feather pillow
Covering your face, so that you smother

My husband is in the kitchen, cooking.
She calls to ichat and the computer
ring softly in the living room, one ring,
two rings, three rings, seventy rings, at last
he walks over and shuts off the machine.

She is like a old embroidered pillow
Covering your face, so that you smother

She wants us to change our plane tickets home.
Like a general, she mounts her campaign.
First one sister, then the other calls me.
'You are not staying long enough, ' they say.
'One hour is too much, ' I think, drinking.

She is a carefully chosen pillow
Covering your face, so that you smother

A big package came in the mail. A card,
valentines, Easter eggs, pens, glitter, paint,
clothes, socks, shoes, coats, mittens, swimsuits, toys, games.
The children ran around excited, thrilled.
Everything was in that box except air.

You are dreaming and she is the pillow
Covering your face, so that you smother

Once upon a time, she had another name
When you were little, you called her mama
She lay in the dark back bedroom, crying
About her family away back East.
Outside it was a sunny, hot day.

One day, you realize you don't like pillows,
or heavy, muffling, fabrics like mother