She Smoked
She smoked
She smoked,
my mother did, a LOT!
I never liked it.
To me she looked like
of those “molls” in
detective magazines,
later on television,
cigarette dangling
from the corner
of her mouth
acrid smoke
curling up (she didn’t inhale)
choking the air
as she played cards
or worked
at her desk.
To be sure,
there were “issues”
between husband and wife.
Mid-Great Depression
Dad out of work
or out of town for work
alone with
kids to manage
clothe and feed
with what?
So she smoked.
Small family Jewish
grocer let bills run up.
Smoking a comfort?
Housedresses, nothing new,
shoes needed for kids.
Teeth bad, pull them.
Children need dental care.
Sharp tongue cutting
no whining
“Just get on with it”.
Hurt, not understanding
we sulked. She smoked
Smoking and smoking
taking in relatives
with lost jobs, lost homes,
sick or in need, managing somehow
depressed (never admit it)
feeling put down,
frustrated, underrated
and underappreciated
never accomplished anything
worthwhile with her
college degree.
But, in her own way,
a saint in a housedress
Smoking away the grief.
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