Watching My Mother

Reflections Ex Ponto Reflecții dinspre Marea Neagră Karadeñízden Kaytîmlar

My mother and I share a room tonight. I look at her, curled onto her side, her furrowed brow relaxed.

Already I’m having second thoughts about having asked if I could wear earplugs to muffle her snoring. This morning at breakfast I pointed out a morsel of food clinging to a corner of her mouth, wishing she had noticed it herself. And I grew so irritated when she told the pious ladies at today’s luncheon, who thanked their heavenly father for his blessings, that after Auschwitz one can no longer count on a caring God.

Now that my mother is deep in slumber, I feel tender remorse tightening my chest.

25