On Mother’s Day

By Grace Paley 1922–2007 Grace Paley

I went out walking

in the old neighborhood

Look! more trees on the block

forget-me-nots all around them

ivy lantana shining

and geraniums in the window

Twenty years ago

it was believed that the roots of trees

would insert themselves into gas lines

then fall poisoned on houses and children

or tap the city’s water pipes starved

for nitrogen obstruct the sewers

In those days in the afternoon I floated

by ferry to Hoboken or Staten Island

then pushed the babies in their carriages

along the river wall observing Manhattan

See Manhattan I cried New York!

even at sunset it doesn’t shine

but stands in fire charcoal to the waist

But this Sunday afternoon on Mother’s Day

I walked west and came to Hudson Street tricolored flags

were flying over old oak furniture for sale

brass bedsteads copper pots and vases

by the pound from India

Suddenly before my eyes twenty-two transvestites

in joyous parade stuffed pillows under

their lovely gowns

and entered a restaurant

under a sign which said All Pregnant Mothers Free

I watched them place napkins over their bellies

and accept coffee and zabaglione

I am especially open to sadness and hilarity

since my father died as a child

one week ago in this his ninetieth year

Grace Paley, “On Mother’s Day” from Begin Again: The Collected Poems of Grace Paley. Copyright © 1999 by Grace Paley. Used by permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, LLC, www.fsgbooks.com. All rights reserved. Caution: Users are warned that this work is protected under copyright laws and downloading is strictly prohibited. The right to reproduce or transfer the work via any medium must be secured with Farrar, Straus and Giroux, LLC.

Source: Begin Again: The Collected Poems of Grace Paley (Farrar Straus and Giroux, 2000)

Biography

With her first two books of short stories, Grace Paley established her niche in the world of letters. Her distinctive voice and verbal gifts have captured the hearts of critics who praise her vision as well as her style. In short and sometimes plotless tales, she plumbs the lives of working-class New Yorkers, mapping out what New York Review of Books contributing critic Michael Wood called "a whole small country of damaged, . . .

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