Small Talk With Mother
On rare occasions when we speak, all talk
and topics must be tweaked to something in-
controvertible or small, a walk
I took, a shopping mall. Reminded when
I did express, just yesterday, mercy
for powerless, noblesse oblige, dog who died,
not mine, my friend’s, who cried an hour to me.
Mom, snide: “Pets die. Ten, twelve years at best.” My
mistake expecting smallest sympathy
from one without history of empathy
for humans, animals, a small body
once carried against a heart, you decreed
sixteen be scapeled apart — protect my dad.
You never let small things make you sad.
Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Best of the Net & Rhysling nominated sonnet stalker. Her sonnets have stalked journals like Glass, Yes, Five:2:One, Luna Luna and more. She is the author of fourteen books of poetry including Pink Plastic House (Maverick Duck Press), Candy Cigarette Womanchild Noir (The Hedgehog Poetry Press), Flutter: Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press), The Meadow (APEP Publications) and Shut Your Eyes, Succubi (Maverick Duck). Follow her on Twitter: (@lolaandjolie) and her website http://kristingarth.com