Constellation Cygnus

I found out from a psychic after my mother died

that she was an alien from another galaxy –

a Tadpole, Blackeye, or Cartwheel galaxy –

perhaps the constellation Cygnus. Her species,

sophisticated, attractive, intelligent – were solitary,

like bears, who raise their young and move on.

She arrived on earth, married, had children,

then sort of forgot she was a mother –

I just got bored, she told me.

Although she lived with us – where else could she go –

she pursued her own interests. I was learning cursive

when she stopped doing my laundry, reading to me,

asking me about school. Instead, she took a class

from St. John’s Ambulance on first aid, worked

at The Gourmet Shop selling Muesli and chocolate

covered ants, travelled to London and Belfast.

When I was a teenager, she made a career

of teaching daycare – weird – attended night school,

and at 81, got her fourth university degree.

My father, who died before her, was a sucker

for a pretty face, spent his life trying to figure her out –

I’ll bet he's relieved to know it wasn't him

that kept her as distant as a thunder cloud.

She was Grace Kelly kind of beautiful –

sewed evening gowns for Saturday dances,

had her hair and nails done, always wore jewelry –

rejoiced when she got real pearls, a mink coat.

I too am a sucker for a pretty face, fell in love

with her as a child and never let go – because

sometimes she mentioned my grades or how I

was good at playing cards or asked me to lunch

and a movie – Hello Dolly, Anne of a Thousand Days.

It was worth tracking her for the occasional

acknowledgment that she knew me, human that I am,

that we had this and that in common.