My Mom’s Hands

My Mom’s hands
Tapped out a tune on the steering wheel
as she drove from here to there

My Mom’s hands 
Smoothed an invisible line on the table cloth 
Laughing with her friends

My Mom’s hands
Tickled my arm absently
As we watched every episode of Doc Martin

My Mom’s hands
Are here in my own hands
Her lines and veins and strength

Robin J Phillips  May 26, 2020

Eavesdropping from My Porch

The voice sounded very young
Maybe a 4-year-old 
With all her confidence

Walking with grandma and the big
Yellow dog who was already
In the family
When she was born

“Her name’s Mary Edwards
Mary Edwards
I’ll write it down so you’ll remember” 

Umhmm Grandma responded
One hand for the leash
And one for the sweet
Young girl

Robin J Phillips  August 12, 2020

Felony dammit

(or growing old is a crime)

I achieved Genius Level 
on the NYT’s Spelling Bee 
before 6 this morning 

but it took me way too long 
as I brushed my teeth
and took some pills
and heated up coffee
to come up with 
to remember
to recall
that word 
that means 
more than a misdemeanor.

~ Robin J. Phillips, Sept. 3, 2021

Almost Broken Home

I do not remember my father’s voice 
but I know his breath smelled like whiskey
as he leaned down to say good night.
That’s when I learned to pretend to be asleep 
which led to real sleep 
and dreams of my parents dressed up.
My Dad smelling of Old Spice
Mom of powder and lipstick.
The most beautiful woman in the world
with a man who never knew how lucky he was

Robin J. Phillips, August 21, 2021