Mother’s Tour
By Melvin Dixon
At the Louvre you find Mona Lisa
gone secretly to Japan, Egyptian mummies
closed, Greek statues so arresting
and erect that you stumble. I catch you
falling, but not the pain rising inside.
Hours later you can’t walk. I translate
in Emergency, broken foot? sprained ankle?
As the swelling eases you limp
to where my friend and I have slept.
Sightseeing us naked and embraced and chiseled
in surprise breaks what your pill and gauze
held tight, sends us packing separate souvenirs:
his razor, my guidebooks, your figurines
cracked from travels swelling our distance.
Notes:
This poem was previously published in Love’s Instruments (Tia Chucha Press, 1995) and is part of the portfolio “Melvin Dixon: I’ll Be Somewhere Listening for My Name.” © Melvin Dixon and used with permission of the author’s estate. You can read the rest of the portfolio in the April 2024 issue.
Source: Poetry (April 2024)