"My Mom As A Young Waitress"

In honor of National Poetry Month, I will be posting work by myself each Friday. My mom died in 2002...and her own stories of her life have mingled with my own memories of her when I was young, along with my dreams and sorrow at her death. This is an encounter that happened...somehow, somewhere.

My Mom As A Young Waitress

You don’t know how pretty you are.
Harried, hurried, scared,
brushing aside a lock of strawberry
blond hair with the back of your hand
on the way to the kitchen,
your first day at a new job,
at Your Host Restaurant in Rochester,
trying to be fun, bubbly, outgoing,
worried about doing a good job.
I sit in this red padded booth,
years before I will be born,
and see a young girl, innocent,
coming toward me, stopping at my table,
smiling, pad and pencil ready, asking,
“Can I take your order?”
I look up into your
sparkling soft blue eyes,
and smile back.
I want to say,
“You’re so lovely.
And you’re sweet.
You’re perfect,
just how you are.
You should like yourself more.
Everything’s gonna be okay.
You’re gonna have what you
always wanted. And it will be
a boy.”
I want to say,
“Hi Mom, I miss you so much!”
In my silence, you ask,
“Sir? What can I get you?”
“Uh… a bowl of tomato soup
and a tuna salad sandwich, please.”
I eat, watching you wait on the
other customers. When I am done
and paid, you happen to pass me
as I approach the door.
You smile and wave:
“See you again, soon!”
I say, “Yes…
Yes. You look for me, okay?”

©JEF 2006