I hear the click-clack worry

of the Tic-Tacs shackled in

their plastic container…

an orange flurry of candy hurries

into her hand.

We’re parked, engine idle.

It’s 1996 and we’re stationed

at an ATM. My mother, waiting

for an automated response, reaches

back into the vehicle to the center

console for a pack of safety-orange

sugar pills. She flicks the lid

and like seeds falling from a feeder

the candies rattle over the rim.

Beside her I sit

watching the bank teller behind

the glass when the machine spits

a papery green leaf and receipt

from its slot. My mother’s hair is

pinned up and she wears

a blouse with geometric patterns.

She tucks the money

into the folds of her wallet

before tossing the Tic-Tac container

back into the console where objects

accumulate: chapstick, tissues, receipts,

the same perfume she’s worn for years.

Week after week

I come with her to this bank, that ATM.

Every time a few Tic-Tacs

along with what meager amount

the machine would muster.

Most times I am quiet.

Her concentrated like a bird balanced

on a wire.

Some times it is the unknown

lady inside the building I look at. Still,

I’ve learned to study my mother:

how the wrinkles on her forehead press

together when she reads the receipt,

how she always offers me the candy

then smiles when I do.

Beyond the car

is a stand of pines.

I hear the wind calling,

see the trees shake their grief.

A robin leaves its nest, searching

for something.

 

ZG Tomaszewski, born in 1989 in Grand Rapids, Michigan, is the author of three books of poems, All Things Dusk (International Poetry Prize winner selected by Li-Young Lee, published by Hong Kong University Press, 2015), a chapbook written while living in Ireland, Mineral Whisper (Finishing Line Press, 2017), and River Nocturne (forthcoming 2018), which has already seen praise from David James Duncan, Li-Young Lee, Laura Kasischke, and Dan Gerber. Tomaszewski currently works maintenance at a 100 year old Masonic Temple, renovates houses, and is the director of the Lamp Light Music Festival.​ New poems appear in Blackbird, RHINO, The Cortland Review, Barrow Street, Portland Review, diode, Poetry International, and Terrain.org, among others, and reviews of other writers works are housed with Empty Mirror, Michigan Quarterly Review, and Poetry International.