One Up: An exercise/story joining mourning and laughter

 

Julien Turbiau 1912, nature morte, théière

He looks so like our mom, the way his hands move while he serves our tea.

We admit we’re tired now that the guests have gone, so tired we can’t

put all the casseroles and cakes into their wrappers and the frig;

so tired we sit at the loaded table, our hands holding our heads.

Out of the silence my brother says, “I’m so tired that I could sleep

right here.”  I lift my head to say “I’m so tired that I could sleep 10

years” and he replies “I’m so tired that I could sleep ten thousand years.”

We look at each other surprised, torn between the familiar

competition and the memory of playing this exact game with

our mom whom we buried today.  “I’m so tired I can’t lift my feet,”

I say, and he responds, “I’m so tired I’ve melded with this fine chair.”

We hate these top-heavy chairs and always have.  “I’m so tired I can’t

move this silly chair, so tired I can’t get out of it.  I love it so.”

By now big bro is smiling.  Mom played one-up with us after dinner,

freeing the one with the tallest tales from the cleanup chores.  “I’m so

tired that . . .” he says, “I’ll never go home again.”  “I’m so tired I’ll pee

right here.”  “Gross!  I’m so tired I’ll leave it there, baby sister.”  “I’m so

tired that I don’t care” I raise my voice.  “I’m so tired that all this food

will rot before I  store it,” he yells.  “I’m so tired, I’m going

to call all our friends to come back and clean the food away,” I yell

louder.  He bursts out laughing.  “I thought you wanted to be alone

here, and that’s why you said goodbye.” I crack up, too. “You win,” he caves. 

“I’ll clean up.”  “Yes.  And I’ll help.” Mom would have loved this sweet moment.

From NaPoWriMo Day 5: "Begin by reading Charles Simic’s poem “The Melon.” It would be easy to call the poem dark, but as they say, if you didn’t have darkness, you wouldn’t know what light is. Or vice versa. The poem illuminates the juxtaposition between grief and joy, sorrow and reprieve. For today’s challenge, write a poem in which laughter comes at what might otherwise seem an inappropriate moment – or one that the poem invites the reader to think of as inappropriate."

Note: This is complete fiction.  My mom thrives!  By the time I edited this poem, I felt the laughter was appropriate after all.  However, ushering the mourners out was not.

My blog poems are rough drafts.

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© 2023 Susan L. Chast