My mother loathed my cats,
An illustration, to her,
Of my inability to set limits,

And was ambivalent about the goldfish;
Pretty, she said, but the money they cost
Could have given a worthier use.

On the other hand, she unreservedly loved
The hummingbirds hovering over my flowerboxes,
Their beak sized and shaped for the petunia chalice,

And grew positively ecstatic
at the sight of a scattering of sailboats
on the sea under my living room window;
A regatta, no doubt. The pleasures of the rich
Turned into a free spectacle
for the benefit of the less so.

This expensive view gave her the reassurance
That I – and therefore she –
Must have done something right

 © Iris Dan

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