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Which reminds me
Rebecca Mueller
I carry a spoon in my purse to eat yogurt on the way to yoga.
It reminds me of the silverware in my mother’s kitchen drawer,
which, with chewed-up edges,
reminds me of my mother’s kitchen sink,
which reminds me of her garbage disposal
which ate not only the food scraps but the silverware
that made raucous sounds when a piece
rattled around in it until she was able to reach the switch
which was under the sink
which reminds me of my father who built the house
and, strangely, put the switch
under the sink, not on the wall next to the sink,
which reminds me of my father in his years of dementia
who dismantled one of the toilets in the house
and laid the pieces of pipes with u-turns,
the screws and nuts and bolts out on the floor
and forgot about them, until he noticed them again
and, having forgotten how to put them back together again
using all the pieces, instead joined the u-pipes with
rubber bands, leaving the nuts and bolts on the floor,
which reminds me how sad it was to watch my parents aging,
which makes me think that I, too, am growing old,
which makes me grateful that the garbage disposal switch
at my house is on the wall next to the sink
which makes me happy that my husband has not yet
dismantled our toilet and laid the inner workings
on the floor
Rebecca Mueller is a former English teacher whose native gardens, study of horticulture, and poetry are expressions of her love for the natural world. Her work has been published in local community and arts publications.