Lucinda Sabino

Mother as Dervish

(photo of a young girl at the market as her mother hurries)


That oscillation in your peripheral vision,
the shimmering curtain of rainbow plastic strips,
the shushing of a small fan, and you turn your head
to catch sight of your mother, quick, bright, there,
not-there.
            The curtain parts and you meet
            the eye of one of your uncles,
            your father, a stone bodhisattva
            always somewhere else.
It seems everyone is somewhere else.
You sit anchored between plastic pitchers, stacks
of tea cups, try to fix your mother’s boundaries.

                        *

I can no longer place my mother
in space, in memory she is opaline,
Every time I try to tell her story
            Something tilts.
            I see from another angle.
She spins away, becomes indistinct,
unfathomable. Even in snapshots,
“I thought her eyes were green.”

Lucinda Sabino has spent over 50 years involved in the lives of children. She is a mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, and spent 20 years as the owner/operator of an infant and toddler day care center. Writing about the way family and culture dovetail, she draws on her travel experiences, especially those involving the varied lives of children. She has two poetry chapbooks, We’re Coming Close and Dancing in the Intersection. Part of the Detroit area poetry community, she has taught Advanced Poetry through Springfed Arts and is an active supporter of InsideOut Literary Arts.