my mother

delicately handling
the fancy fabric on the bolt,
my mother imagines her creation.
years of underpaid menial manual labor
have literally broken her back
and rendered her hands
barely useful,
so the elaborate dress
she has in mind for her granddaughter
becomes a simple sundress,
something she can whip up,
ignoring hand spasms.

her whole life she has spent
waiting for the luxury
of personal discovery,
and I fear she will never
achieve her heart's desires.
her resources -- financial, physical,
emotional, et. al. --
diminishing.

I believe the American dream
is a joke,
but she can't see the humour.