Mother, Washing Dishes by Susan Meyers

Mother, Washing Dishes

by Susan Meyers

She rarely made us do it—

we’d clear the table instead—so my sister and I teased

that some day we’d train our children right

and not end up like her, after every meal stuck

with red knuckles, a bleached rag to wipe and wring.

The one chore she spared us: gummy plates

in water greasy and swirling with sloughed peas,

globs of egg and gravy.

                                Or did she guard her place

at the window? Not wanting to give up the gloss

of the magnolia, the school traffic humming.

Sunset, finches at the feeder. First sightings

of the mail truck at the curb, just after noon,

delivering a note, a card, the least bit of news.

This poem was published in Tar River Poetry, Vol. 48, no. 1, Fall 2008

If this poem had a subtitle, I imagine it would be: When We All Grow Up and Start Understanding Our Parents As Individuals. Happily, poems do not have such blatant subtitles; rather, the poet shows us things (events, images, conversations, etc.) that lead us to create those subtitles.

"some day we’d train our children right" is devastating and so realistic, perfectly capturing the harsh judgement often thought by teens about their parents--not only do I not want to be like mom or dad, I will make sure my kids are not, either. I am making an assumption based on the poet's birth year--1945--that this poem takes place in the early 1960s, but that generation gap is as old as humans and remains and always will.

Before we leave this first stanza, I would like to point out that admitting things about ourselves is constant in poetry and is one of the things that makes poetry, for me, so intriquing, powerful, brave, and affirming. Even in persona poems, something of the poet comes through (if we read close enough). Poets who admit to things: a long ago and very typical brush off of a parent is not just a revelation, but a way to connect to readers; it makes us remember a time when we thought harshly of someone. Reading poetry is not always comfortable and comforting, which is why many people do not read it--it makes them see things about themselves that they would rather ignore. Okay, tangent over.

There is a slight shift at the end of the first stanza; the description of what the mother is sparing her daughters is so good in its disgusting details, we sense a change is coming.

And sure enough we have such a change the poet puts it into a different stanza and starts wiyth a question. From grease, globs, and gravy, we go to gloss and we realize, along with the speaker, this woman enjoyed her time at the window looking out of her home. The magnolia and the finches, the evidence of people outside, doing other things. The last bit, of course, really drives home this woman's . . . take your pick: loneliness? frustration? regret?

boredom? feeling of insignificance? All of the above? A feeling, or feelings, so desperate that the arrival of mail was something to look forward to.

This is a wonderful poem for the speaker's insight into her mother. I also enjoy the look back on how important mail service was when that was our only way of receiving written words from our friends, far-away family, and associates. When we knew something was coming--a birthday card, a note about a relative's health, a magazine, a love letter, a college acceptance letter, an invitation to a party, etc.--going to the mailbox to get the mail was a mini event in and of itself. Email and texts are great but they lack that anticipation and excitement snail mail brought.

Tar River Poetry consistently publishes great poems like this one. You can check it out here. Susan Meyers died in 2017, and the North Carolina Poetry Society has a beautiful tribute to her on its site, which you can read here. You can read more about her and purchase her fourth and final book at Press 53, which has an incredible roster of poets and poetry books; click here to go to that site.