Water Cup

Issue 6

Sunday morning. Church.
Mom stands next to me until she sits
And I sense that somethings wrong
She whispers over me to my father
Asks for a cup of water
I keep singing but the words
Are blank notes and letters
I’m thinking about my mom next to me
 
Singing stops and we sit
I touch her lightly on the shoulder
Once maybe twice
Then try and focus on the readings
Ignore her next to me
Until she fumbles with the little silver pill capsule
Her clear painted nails reflect the light, shaking
She’s getting a beta blocker--
 
I could lean over and whisper,
      “Are you ok?”
(Even though I know she’s not)
Start panicking myself
Make concerned eye contact with my sister
Whisper to my dad… something in concern
Reach over and put my hand on hers--

But instead I pick up her cup of water
Place it in her hand
And with her murmured thank you,
I simply nod my head back.

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ADELE DUMMERMUTH is a student at Coe College, majoring in Creating Writing and Rhetoric. She enjoys writing poetry and short stories, along with sending random haikus back and forth with her dad (inspired by Ricky Baker from Hunt for the Wilderpeople).

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