The
Visit
by Mary Redman
Her
eyes, a windless pond,
look
but do not see as I move to her table
in
the dining room. Slowly, the focus
changes—and
she knows it’s me
but
can no longer say my name.
I
take her out, slow-footed,
for
our walk along a certain route,
the
road encircling her sheltered home.
She
tries to set a faster pace
as
if she needs to prove something.
No
need to hurry, I
say.
Tongue-tied,
she tries to speak,
as
if she must—to keep me coming back.
She
may be right. I do not know
how
to do this sort of small talk. I speak.
She
nods, pretends to catch my point.
Looking
at her soft-skinned face,
draped
jowls, crosshatched lines marking
years,
I wonder when she changed
so.
Soon it’s time to leave—
We
hug as if one of us might break,
and
I smell soap and Charlie,
faded
after
hours of wearing. I tell her
I’ll
phone tomorrow. She blinks.
I
wonder what she thinks as I turn
to
leave. She watches ‘til I’m out of sight—
I
see her in the rearview mirror.
Down
the road a few blocks more,
I
breathe a sigh of relief, regret, and guilt—
as
sticky as a July day after rain.
Mary
Redman is
a retired high school English teacher who currently works part time
supervising student teachers for University of Indianapolis. She
enjoys having time to volunteer and to take classes at the Indiana
Writers Center. She has had poems published in Flying Island, Three
Line Poetry, Red River Review, Northwest Indiana Literary Journal,
Tipton Poetry Journal, and elsewhere.