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Article: Gentle. (poem)
- Article from:
- The Antioch Review
- Article date:
- June 22, 1995
- Author:
CopyrightCOPYRIGHT 1995 Antioch Review, Inc. This material is published under license from the publisher through the Gale Group, Farmington Hills, Michigan. All inquiries regarding rights should be directed to the Gale Group. (Hide copyright information)
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My mother, dying, observes her fifty-year marriage, says, "We could have been more gentle with each other." And I watch my father slumped in a chair by her bed, reaching finally, when she gives in to sleep, to touch her hand pale against the white sheet.
There's a quiet, like water calming.
On a picnic thirty years ago, I sit on a yellow bedspread fitting black olives on each of my fingers. A more formal time, my mother wears a blue voile dress & high heels that aerate the soft dirt near the shore at Fallen Leaf Lake. When my parents begin to argue, I chew the olives from one hand & measure the fight with what I call "the fuck you meter." My middle finger ...