of course she knows

without much

effort

i can close my eyes and see

my mother

at the ironing board

with the black

and white tv on.

methodically she irons

each small

pair of pants and school shirts,

small dresses

with flowers

on them and

long white sheets and pillow

cases.

i'm in the bottom bunk

of the bunk

bed with a cold

wash cloth on my forehead,

staring up

at springs.

i'm pretending to be

sick so that i

don't have to go to school

this morning.

my mother brings

me a bowl of hot

chicken

soup and crackers.

and then milk and cookies.

all on a tray.

she sticks a thermometer

in my mouth

at some point

then shakes it.

you're getting better,

she says,

touching my forehead.

lie back

with a pillow behind your head,

she says,

and let me read to you

for a while.

shall it be Peter Pan,

again?