Telephone Therapy

Talking to strangers on the phone for hours for cash payment.

I grew up with my mom running an illegal psychic network with her as the only employee.

She received cash and checks in the mail for her time.

She was on the phone constantly.

If I would so much as make eye contact with her she would shoo me away.

There could be a turtle climbing the fence in our backyard and she would still try to ignore me.

Until finally she realized there was indeed a turtle climbing the fence and it needed help.

The turtle hissed at me as my mother put it in a bag and gave it some lettuce.

I always wondered why lettuce?

The turtle seemed very uninterested and even hissed at its food offering.

My mother was a psychic who could not find missing objects, which also included finding Waldo on a cereal box.

This made me doubt how authentic she was.

And why did she not dress up like a gypsy and use a crystal ball?

She had an aqua-tinted crystal ball that was collecting dust on top of the piano with its chipped keys.

It went unused and was for display purposes only.

Telephone therapy for others, but not enough time for me.

I never felt threated by her working from home.

Though I did feel sad that these strangers on the phone meant more to her than me.

If I paid her in stones I dug up in the yard would she spend more time with me?

Or would she just drop me off at Grandma’s so she could go work in a crystal shop?

There was no such thing as quality time.

I loved my Grandma with all my heart.

She was the only one that truly listened to me.

She would get down on my level and her petite 4’11 frame never seemed to tower over me like the other adults did.

She enjoyed my company.

I could trust her.

She was more like a mother to me.

Some may say Grandma was particular about people.

She had her favorites that was noticeable.

I was her Amanda and she often called me “My Amanda”

She said these words with love and her smile opened every doorway in my heart.

I loved being around her.

Her compassion for animals.

Her homemade cooking.

Her garden in the city.

And her sense of humor.

I spent hours playing cards and drinking coffee with her.

Some of my fondest childhood memories happened at her home.

She was filled with a kind of love that I have never found in another person.

She believed in me and was supportive of anything I wanted to pursue in life.

My grandma was no telephone therapist.

She didn’t take on the struggles of others.

Though she was always there to lend an ear.

My mom was the type who was quick to judge.

Some of my dreams she shattered.

Others she supported.

She was inconsistent.

Looking back as an adult, I see mental illness.

I see myself being more of the adult and telling my mom to cut away from herself when using a knife and to sit with all four legs of the chair on the ground.

I see me as her guide, and not her as mine.

Perhaps I needed the mother who ignored me to grow into the independent person that I am today.

*This poem is featured in "Peeling Sanity" Due for release in October 2018. Be sure to check out my other poetry collections on Amazon.

Check out my Author Page on Facebook!

Check out my Poetry!

Check out my Music Articles!

Check out my Beauty Articles!

Check out my Makeup Articles!