Looking up,
working to calculate the ceiling tiles,
mouth open in stupefaction,
I hear the maddening stomping
of Mother coming down the hall.
The tempo and the volume demonstrate
clearly: I am in deep shit.
The standard fist
slams the kitchen counter.
I ponder hiding,
fear the sound of her thunderous
pounding coming down the stairs,
beating them as a bass drum,
question whether or not she has
that overweight cast-iron pan.
But she died so very long ago,
and there is no floor above me at work.
Maybe she is here.
Terror haunts me, but I love her still.
When will she let go?
stillfugue 
#1 by liv2write2day on February 11, 2011 - 4:34 pm
Heart-wrenching. Mothers have such an influence on our entire lives and it must be hard to escape that feeling of terror.
#2 by Carl on February 11, 2011 - 10:04 pm
Yes, they have amazing influence, and I am still learning about that. My mother was Jekyll and Hyde. She left us with so many beautiful things including our affinity for arts of all kinds.
#3 by Evelyn on February 11, 2011 - 9:01 pm
oh my God Carl.
my skin is crawling.
“The tempo and the volume demonstrate
clearly: I am in deep shit.”
my heart almost stopped at this line
“question whether or not she has
that overweight cast-iron pan.”
wow. Im so in awe of you.
#4 by Carl on February 11, 2011 - 10:07 pm
Oh, you, thank you for being so kind to me!
#5 by kolembo on February 11, 2011 - 9:13 pm
Aieeee! And I run screaming…aieeee…you’re so up my alley, it’s unreal. Please do not tell me that these came all at once, for then I am lost…!
#6 by Carl on February 11, 2011 - 10:22 pm
Oh, thank you! You are so generous. It is nice when we don’t have to sing alone.