The Weekends
One year I brought a telescope.
One year I brought a guitar.
One time my aunt cried all night
for her son who wasn’t lost.
One cousin brought huge bowls
of green beans from her farm.
One cousin brought her marriage
and its two-hour calls. One brought
a baby, and by day’s end we’d all
converted to his smiling religion.
Some years I slept outside,
away from the drunken voices.
One year I spent an hour drifting
in a rowboat on a pond I could have
walked around in a minute.
My mother took a glider ride
not knowing how near she was
to the end of her pitch and roll.
One time I sat in a salon and watched
four cousins get their nails done.
I listened to them talk. The air
smelled of fake roses and kiddie perfume.
One cousin didn’t want to be there.
She carried pressure like an anvil
in both arms. They all sat in a row
and laughed, her too, their toes splayed
in rubber spacers. Their toenails
gleamed like hard little candies.
One year I brought a guitar.
One time my aunt cried all night
for her son who wasn’t lost.
One cousin brought huge bowls
of green beans from her farm.
One cousin brought her marriage
and its two-hour calls. One brought
a baby, and by day’s end we’d all
converted to his smiling religion.
Some years I slept outside,
away from the drunken voices.
One year I spent an hour drifting
in a rowboat on a pond I could have
walked around in a minute.
My mother took a glider ride
not knowing how near she was
to the end of her pitch and roll.
One time I sat in a salon and watched
four cousins get their nails done.
I listened to them talk. The air
smelled of fake roses and kiddie perfume.
One cousin didn’t want to be there.
She carried pressure like an anvil
in both arms. They all sat in a row
and laughed, her too, their toes splayed
in rubber spacers. Their toenails
gleamed like hard little candies.
Amy Miller’s poetry and nonfiction have appeared in Barrow Street, Gulf Coast, Tupelo Quarterly, Willow Springs, and ZYZZYVA. Her full-length poetry collection The Trouble with New England Girls won the Louis Award from Concrete Wolf Press, and her chapbooks include I Am on a River and Cannot Answer (BOAAT Press) and Rough House (White Knuckle Press). She lives in Oregon.
Art: My Mother Eating Clam Chowder by Jenna Lê
