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Marsha L. Mentzer
I’ve seen my mother several places
over the four years she’s been gone,
the airport, church,
but most often
the grocery store parking lot.
And only from the back.
She’s small,
thick white hair neatly trimmed,
and of course wearing
her no-wrinkle slacks
and matching shirt.
You can tell from the
way she stands,
conident in her eighty years
of living through everything,
that she’s no push-over.
She has a firm grasp
on the shopping cart
and the purse in her hand.
And each time I see her
I pretend
I’m just waiting for her
to turn around and notice me,
surprised and pleased to see
that we have bumped
into each other at last.
Marsha L. Mentzer writes: “I am a
relatively new poet and in a relatively old
body. I have taught English at Carlisle High
School in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, for 30 years
and still live to tell about it. Thank goodness
for the vitality of high school freshmen, the
inspiration of colleagues, and the support
of my long-suffering husband and children.
I have had poems published in Main Channel
Voices and Out of Line.”
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