Mother H.

I was married to her oldest daughter.
H. was the kind of woman that
would correct your pronunciation
over a dinner of Coq-au-Vin .

She snapped her fingers at
Chinese waiters.
I feared that Mr. Fong would
blow his nose on my spring rolls.

She set the table with two or three forks
and two spoons.
She slept on pillows stuffed
with down from chins
of English Sparrows.

She had a large bosom
and was always
bumping into me -
given the extra space
I gave her to navigate
the rooms and halls
in her spacious home.

I was married to her daughter
for sixteen years. The last eight,
a business relationship.
Her daughter tried
to shrink my head.