Now

Why do you ask about my mother? I thought the interview was about my music. I will tell you her favorite place was her garden. She cared for it as if it were her child. How often would I seek her out, beg her to sit on that chair, the one closest to the grand piano. Time after time she refused me, only to return to her garden. I often opened the window so she could enjoy both my music and her garden. On those days she would contrive to work at the farthest border. She said my music was a distraction. She said her flowers would perish without her. I find that rather amusing, given the circumstances of her demise.

I wrote only one piece of music for my mother. A nocturne in B flat minor. It will be remembered as my magnum opus. Before you ask, no, I will not play it for you. I composed it as my gift to her memory. I wonder what posterity will make of that fact. A fortnight after my mother died, I had her garden eviscerated. Is not the fountain beautiful to behold?

Let us go exploring. Such a fine morning. Who knows what treasures we will find. Come, give me your arm as we circle the marble fountain. Beyond there is the bird bath. A special surprise awaits past the wooden swing. Tread carefully as the leaves may be sodden from last night’s storm. My, what perfect little feet you have. And how quiet you have become. Is my clasp too tight upon your arm? Look. Beside the ivy trellis. My mother sits on the stone bench. She wears the smile she never wore in life. Bend down and put your ear to her lips. Tell me what you hear.

________

Roberta Beary grew up in Queens, New York and identifies as gender-fluid. Honors: Finalist Rattle Poetry Prize (2023), 1st Prize Bridport Poetry (2022), Best Microfiction 2019 & 2021, Best Small Fictions 2020 & 2022. Their work is featured in The New York Times, hex literary, Atticus Review, and other publications. A trauma survivor, they divide their time between USA and Ireland.