Mrs. Taffety Politely Answers the Door by C. C. Rayne
36 lines
Issue 4 (Spring 2024)
Child, I know you want to exorcise him,
but he is my son.
It has been such a long time since we were together.
He used to take care of me.
He’d make me tea,
bring me news of the outside world.
Together, we would watch TV.
I have not always lived
with his graveyard out my window.
I had to sell the home when he first died,
and the price of real estate
has gotten so very bad these days.
Though I suppose I don’t need to tell you that,
you and your generation…
…what I mean to say is:
I know it is not him sitting by the window,
his body all pale and pockmarked
where the bones have grown brittle
and the worms have got through.
His eyes all red and purple,
like a dying star.
And he never speaks to me.
But that was the special thing, you see.
We got along.
He didn’t feel obligation, when he visited.
He didn’t feel some need to speak–
—and whatsoever has made a home inside him—
—well.
It can be my son too,
if it wishes.
Thank you for calling, child.
Give my love to your mom and dad.
To the whole entire parish.
I hope your school is feeding you well.
I hope you have someone
to take care of you too.