Nothing But Blue Skies

Carol Potter

Here comes the song my mother used to sing when she was packing up
   to die Blue skies, nothing but blue skies here come the blue skies
here comes my mother with her blind eyes peering up to the sky my
   mother singing while I drove and here comes me driving that road here
come the spaces between places which some like to think are short and not
   inked in with something you can barely see but goes on and on as you
drive your long dead mother singing in the seat next to you
   Que sera, sera she sang when she was just hanging out with her girls
until I told her she had to stop with that song here comes that song in my
   mouth here it comes those vowels scratching from my throat my voice
not much better than hers that wispy sound she made sometimes calling
   to say she was lonely where she was here it comes Just a little bluebird
in the wilderness waiting for the end to come
she sang in the hospital
   until I told her Just a little bluebird waiting to be fed was the true line
but it was her song and here they come those ditties she sang in her last
   two years wishing all the time there was some man around and not just these
weepy daughters shushing her here comes the word dumb which I uttered
   yesterday about myself turning down the wrong hall having locked keys
in my office which is what she used to say about herself about where she
   found herself with that little bit of eyesight left and those Blue skies nothing
but blue skies
tilting her head she’d say, Oh look at those jet trails
   but who knows how she could see jet trails blind as she was here comes
the road she was driving when we didn’t know she couldn’t see but later
   told us Oh I just find the white line and stick by it here it comes that white
line down the side of the road and here comes my mother holding to it

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