Tuesday, February 25, 2014


She sings that song to me again, in German
( I’d rather be alone but I listen)
about a boy who begs his mamma for a horse
(Mamatschi, shenk mir ein Pferdchen)
Mamatschi, a pony would be my paradise.

Her voice scales the ceiling, trilling:

One day there stood four jeweled mares 
before the house

--and here she comes apart, 
her voice on the floor in pieces: 

Oh Mamatschi, funeral horses I did not want!

My mother, that ungifted singer, 
that unbashful lover of sappy songs.