Inspired by Alan Fox
They were at the mart in Rotterdam” she says,
“A whole table of them for one euro”
My mother smooths the polyester florals,
interred in tissue paper.
The morning of my father’s funeral.
she wants me to wear it, along with her
second best black raincoat. I plan on my Parisian
leather jacket, biker chic.
“It doesn’t go with my coat” I say.
She has given me few gifts—
a baby doll, a travel alarm, my first typewriter,
the gift of the long-lived genes of her
frugal family, urged upon me
her immigrant distaste for being singled out.
An hour before before my father’s funeral she
holds it out again. “Pa always liked this scarf.”
“It will look good with the raincoat.”
“They’re calling for sun by noon” I say, fastening my
half dozen zippers and buckles.
I wish I had worn it.
Johanna Zomers is an eternally optimistic Canadian writer in her seventh decade.