I never cried when dad died
and relatives wept
offering consolation
assuming pain I didn’t feel
clucking disapproval as I
lit a cigarette in the funeral
parlor saying I couldn’t smoke
even though others were
or when mom sobbed
and tried to jump
in his open grave
I shut my eyes and
pretended to be asleep
as others pulled her
from the abyss
I never cried when mom tried
suicide, not the first or fifth
or tenth time she picked up
scalpel-like knife, took pills,
or stopped eating
not when she heard voices
neighbor voices making fun
and urging her to jump
from fifth floor apartment
and sounded like she was
ready to leap
not even when she went into
a Princeton nursing home
refusing to recognize me
when I visited
animated only for peers
who said she is so
sociable, so caring, and
it is a shame her children
never come to see her
I never cried when mom died
just got angry at callous funeral
director who charged more
to store her dead body than if
she was staying at Four Seasons
and got furious at blue shag carpet
when I tripped going to the
fridge seeking chocolate chip
cookies and milk.
Judy Shepps Battle has been writing essays and poems long before retiring from being a psychotherapist and sociology professor. She is a New Jersey resident, addictions specialist, consultant, and freelance writer.
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