My Mother, The Beggar

i made her dinner

she said it was good

but complained about 

the absence of a glass of milk

then she said,

“But i guess beggars can’t be choosers.”

born on a farm in middle of winter

almost smothered to death by her mother with a couch cushion

but then her dad came in the room

up at five to milk the cows

bullied at school for smelling of manure

given to the first man who asked 

at sixteen

smacked around

five children

poverty

dutiful

did as she was told

she never made a choice

now the children are gone

husbands dead

overwhelmed with decisions

i said,

“Beggars can be choosers,

but if they don’t choose,

they’re beggars by choice.”

we ate then in silence

she watched tv

and changed the channel