Usefulness

Eight years ago, my mother called to say that she and my father had made plane reservations to come for a visit six months hence. That night I washed the kitchen floor.

My mother
came to visit last year
and by the end of the second day she had:
- washed windows
- put up Christmas decorations
- cleaned the stove
- baked cookies

She used to say
"Make yourself useful"
and hand me a dust rag
or some other household chore.
vacuum the living room
or do the dishes
or iron clothes
or clean the bathroom
or fold laundry
or get it from the line outside
or pick the peas
or the beans
or the tomatoes.

Now it’s been two years
since I’ve taken a step
without an arm or a counter or a wall or my cart.
My hand can no longer
safely hold a knife.
Picking up a dropped
package or paper or pen
is an ordeal and sometimes
impossible.

I can no longer
"Make myself useful"
according to the model
that I grew up with
that plays in the back of my mind
even as I find
new shapes and colors
for usefulness.

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