American Life in Poetry, Column 031

by Ted Kooser, U. S. Poet Laureate

All of us have known tyrants, perhaps at the office, on the playground or, as in this poem, within a family. Here Long Island poet Gloria g. Murray portrays an authoritarian mother and her domain. Perhaps you’ve felt the tension in a scene like this.

In My Mother’s House

every wall 
stood at attention 
even the air knew 
when to hold its breath 
the polished floors 
looked up 
defying heel marks 
the plastic slipcovers 
crinkled in discomfort 

in my mother’s house 
the window shades 
flapped 
against the glare 
of the world 
the laughter 
crawled like roaches 
back into the cracks 

even the humans sat--
cardboard cut-outs 
around the formica 
kitchen table 
and with silver knives 
sliced and swallowed 
their words

Reprinted from “Poet Lore,” Vol 99, No. 1/2 by permission of the author. Copyright (c) 2005 by Gloria g. Murray, whose latest book of poetry is “Five A.M. Anxiety.” This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln. This column does not accept unsolicited poetry.