Memories
it came into our lives unexpectedly
like an unwanted child
rudely shoved into the living room
through the narrow doors
by two white-shirted beer-bellied
brutes heaving and grunting like
pigs in heat
i remember it arriving
on a hot summer afternoon
charged on dad’s meager pay
once in the house
our lives would never
be the same
many a night
i would sneak from bed
down the hallway
to peek through the door
where mother and the beast
engaged in battle
like knights of old
jousting for honor
mother slouched over the stool
her eyes dreamlike
half-shut
hair disheveled
each magical musical note
bringing her back to kinder times
before the weight of marriage
crushed her like a bulldozer
her fingers tickling those
ivory keys with tender notes of love
looking like a chinese sewing lady
in a garment shop
as if each note were
a perfect stitch binding
her life to a new scrap
of cloth
– A.D. Winans in The Next Parish Over: a Collection of Irish-American Writing, ed. Patricia