Poetry July 2010 | issue 415

Portraits

by Mark Irwin

MARK IRWIN is the author of six collections of poetry, the most recent titled Tall If (New Issues Poetry & Prose). He has won four Pushcart Prizes and two Colorado Book Awards and teaches in the graduate creative-writing program at the University of Southern California. He divides his time between Los Angeles and Colorado, where he designed his house by making a model out of sugar cubes because he couldn’t afford an architect.

www.markirwinauthor.com

Mother came to visit today. We
hadn’t seen each other in years. Why didn’t
you call? I asked. Your windows are filthy, she said. I know,
I know. It’s from the dust and rain. She stood outside.
I stood in, and we cleaned each one that way, staring into each other’s eyes,
rubbing the white towel over our faces, rubbing
away hours, years. This is what it was like
when you were inside me, she said. What? I asked,
though I understood. Afterward, indoors, she smelled like snow
melting. Holding hands we stood by the picture window,
gazing into the December sun, watching the pines in flame.

Personal. Political. Provocative. Subscribe to The Sun and save 55%.