“The Moment Before”
by Kathryn Haig
Clear!
Wait, I don’t understand.
I see only darkness and now a tiny hand,
A baby’s fingers grasping for her mother’s hair.
I’ve seen its color before, though I can’t quite
place where. A man’s voice calls from another
room, and I think I know him too. He enters,
and I recognize his face as that of my father
prior to his disgrace.
Resume.
A little girl with a crimson birthmark on her cheek
Smiles shyly from her swing. We’ll be friends
within the week. My step-father lets go of the handles
Of my bike, my mother tells me breaking
The bell was my last strike.
They remind me to look both ways.
They hope my forgetfulness is just a phase.
I stand before the oven, watching cookies rise,
And smell my mother’s lilac perfume when she lifts me
To see the fireworks on the Fourth of July.
Pause. Analyzing.
I start slamming my door because I think it makes me cool,
And Tommy Levall kisses me at the pool, smelling
Of sunscreen and summer tunes. My lab partner is
Incredibly neat, and a car barely misses me as I cross
the street. A math test goes badly, to say
The least – a red F on a crisp white sheet. The crowd cheers
When I score the winning goal, but my coach says I should
Learn to have more control. Community college,
My guidance counselor suggests, but my mother refuses
To believe that I’ve done my best.
I’m going to Patch. Keep it up.
White and green graduation caps soar through the air,
And arms embrace me from everywhere.
A friend shouts my name, a picture is shot.
I make my way over to my cap and squat
In the road to pick it up.
Clear! We’re losing her, losing her, losing …
Red, all I see is red.
A red car, a red cap, my red fingers.
Why are my fingers red?
My mother’s face swims
before me, white as a shroud
What a moment ago was, for once, so proud.
My step-father, too, comes into view
And so many more seem to accrue.
A siren sounds faintly, and I believe it
Saintly – an alleviation from
The silence screaming
In my ears and strange assurances
That I can’t hear. My mother’s hands
Press against my head.
Why are my mother’s
Fingers red?
Why is it
Getting so
Dark?
She’s gone.
Oh.
I understand now.
