“Why I Never Talk about My Mother” by Joe Cilluffo

When my father remembers my mother has died,
when he realizes he had forgotten, and he cries
— if that’s the word for those great, wracking peals of thunder
I feel against me, holding the hollow tree
he has become as it waits to fall — he shudders
in the sudden storm of memory, and I know
I brought this down upon him,
the lightning bolt loosed from my callous hand.
I decided, then and there, I would never
speak of my mother again. I would lie
if he asked where she was. The dead die
again and again in their remembrance.
It is I who would kill her, the coward with my words.

Joe Cilluffo’s poem “Why I Never Talk About My Mother” exists in the space of time between his father believing Cilluffo’s mother to be alive and when the poet must remind him that his wife has died. The poet bears the terrible burden of  having to tell his father, who likely suffers from dementia, that he is a widower again and again.

The first stanza likens Cilluffo’s father’s grief to a turbulent storm, with “wracking peals of thunder.” The truth of his mother’s death is a “lightning bolt loosed from [his] callous hand.” To bring the reality of his mother’s absence back to his father’s memory is too much. Cilluffo decides, “I will never speak of my mother again. / I would lie if he asked where she was.” He cannot bear to kill her again by reminding his father.

Joe Cilluffo’s poetry appears in Philadelphia Stories, Schuylkill Valley Journal, and Apiary. He often writes about loss and grief.

But there is this: they are also reborn in the forgetting.
I become young again, the little boy he expects
when the nurse tells him I’m here, your son,
here to see you. Maybe he thinks to bounce me
up and down on his knee, a bronco I tried to,
but could never, tame. Up and down
goes time, rushing, fierce in its will to throw me.
But in that moment of his expectation, my mother is alive
and she is young and, oh my, so beautiful.
I never knew how beautiful she had been,
as she is again in his mind
when he hears the words Your son is here.
We are all young, and strong, and not even a little
bit broken. It’s why I lie.
It’s exactly what I wish I could see.

In the second stanza, Cilluffo reflects on the joy of allowing his father to forget. There is a fresh, new beginning for his family. His mother “is young and, oh my, so beautiful.” By allowing his father to believe his mother is alive, she is made new and full of vitality. She can be all that she once was, before Cilluffo even knew her.

The poet realizes his father sees their family as “young, and strong, and not even a little broken.” This picture of love, strength, and grace is enough to make Cilluffo want to lie again the next time. He wishes he “could see” as his father does and enjoy their once united family again.

“Why I Never Talk About My Mother” shares the ironic joy of forgetting. In those moments his father believes his wife to be alive, she is — at least for him. He is made strong by her love and is full of hope. Perhaps Cilluffo wishes that he could forget, too — for just a little while.

Joe Cilluffo’s poetry collection, “Always in the Wrong Season,” can be purchased here.