Three Poems by Joseph Mills

Party Planning in the Assisted Living Home

You ask what kind of cake they would like,
and they say, “I don’t know. I’m not hungry.”
You suggest cakes they’ve had in previous years
and they get annoyed. “Who wants an old cake?
Am I old and stale? Is that what you’re saying?”
You know better than to respond. You suggest
chocolate, and they grimace. You say, “Vanilla?”
and they recoil “What would be the point of that?”
You say, “I just want to make something you like.”
Their face changes. They lean in and whisper,
“I’ll just have whatever Clint has.” Their husband,
Clint, died years ago. You ask, “Does he like lemon?”
She nods, “Yes. With a lot of frosting. Too much.”
You promise her there will be a lot, even too much.

*

Nostalgia

More years than not
the tree got knocked down

because of dogs,
or parties, or fights,

but mostly because
the holiday season
was a drinking season,

and each time the tree
would be levered back up,
broken ornaments swept up,
decorations cleaned up,
water mopped up,

so the next night
the tree seemed as bright,

and maybe outside
no one could tell
anything had happened,

and maybe for some
that would have been reassuring,
things can be set aright,

but once you know
how it can come down,
whether by accident or anger,
it never seems aright again.

*

Veterans Day

Every year she buys him socks as a gift.
Warm ones. Thick ones. Thermals. Woolens.
He doesn’t need them. He has drawers full,
but he always seems genuinely grateful,
much to the bewilderment of the children.

For two years in that war, he felt he never could
get his feet dry and warm and he was sure that
he was going to die. He would write her the first,
not the second, but she knew, just as she knows
the shape of love isn’t a heart, but a foot.

*

A faculty member at the University of North Carolina School of the Arts, Joseph Mills has published several collections of poetry with Press 53, most recently “Bodies in Motion: Poems About Dance.”