Watching My Mother
Beside the Ford Thunderbird,
a suitcase splayed open.
She collects her clothes
from the driveway.
The yellow jumper collapses
into a million threads of saffron.
She keeps dropping them.
They wither and dissolve,
petal by petal
into pavement.
Her hands are rivers.
Her eyes, mascara bats.
Her hair is crying.
I am five and perfect.
Copyright Credit: Poem copyright ©2020 by Jessica Abughattas, “Watching My Mother” from Strip (University of Arkansas Press, 2020.) Poem reprinted by permission of the author and the publisher.