Beautiful
She cracked a throaty Marlboro laugh
that piped her spicy liquored breath
into my face. Her blouse hung half
unbuttoned—spilling, braless breasts.
I lay my forehead and my chin
where greedy groping hands had been,
and all but tasted salty skin
cologned by smoke and random men.
The taps and clacks of wobbly steps
approached my bedroom, down the hall,
but when high-heels and carpet met,
she tripped and took me in the fall.
Her raspy laugh collapsed to weeps.
Mascara ran to lipstick snores—
she lay exposed in stupor’s sleep.
Her bed that night would be the floor.
I pulled the blanket off my bed.
It clung to her as men had tried.
My pillow held her spinning head.
Some curls were crushed, some strewn aside.
Through drowsy eyes, I wondered why
I had this one and not another.
Perhaps her wish—the same as mine:
I only want to see my mother
beautiful.
Michael Pietrack is a poet based in Grand Junction, Colorado. He is known for his narrative poetry and novels written in verse, including Legacy: The Saga Begins (2023) and Boone (2026). He has placed three times in the Society of Classical Poets International Competition with “Ballerina,” “The Loons of Colby Lake,” and “Grindstone.”
What an astonishing piece of writing, Michael – vivid, earthy and (in the correct sense) pitiful. Your choice of vocabulary is arresting, and the narrative held me from start to finish. Great stuff.
Thank you for the kind word, they mean a great deal to me. This memory had been incubating for decades and just decided to come out.
A heartrbreaking and incredibly powerful poem, Michael. Also a very brave one. It captures something so raw and real about a relationship which was obviously fraught from the challenges of substance abuse. I was surprised by the direction of the narrative and so I don’t want to give the twist away. But having been a member of the recovery community for many years, I am impressed with how accurately and compellingly you capture a painful moment in time. And that final word at the end — “beautiful” — breaking through the form, is devastating. Well done. Your poem reminded me a bit of the Theodore Roethke’s poem “My Pappa’s Waltz.” https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43330/my-papas-waltz
Yours and Roethke’s poems together would make very fine companion pieces in an anthology.
Wow, thank you for this high praise. My mother passed away at 61, and she never was able to break the cycle. She’s missed so much…
A very powerful poem and I really like the unexpected extra word of the ‘hypermetric’ final line; that’s a fine innovation. The language, too, is compelling: the line ‘It clung to her as men had tried.’ is really well observed. Excellent work, Michael – well done.
James—thank you for your mentorship over the years. Your support has helped me develop a style and voice. Let’s catch up soon.
A beautifully written but extremely sad poem.
Sad is exactly how I felt writing it. I used to feel sadness for the boy, but now I only feel sadness for the woman.
I found it moving and intriguing. It is both profound and sensual, and of course very psychodynamic. Some of the rhyming is fascinating (Been-Men, Snores-Floor), and serves to draw the reader in. The last line is devastating.
Thank you! Intend to write in pentameter, but I was exploring tetrameter here, and the lack of real estate forces me to use the language economically.
This is extremely effective, and holds the reader with sharp imagery and suspense. It starts out with a presumed sleaziness, but then moves towards trouble, difficulty, and an accident, followed up by the totally unexpected conclusion.
The first quatrain is an amazingly fine example of the use of contemporary language in a received fixed form.
I’m glad the ending landed! And praise from you is validating to me. Thank you!
A touching narrative, Michael, evoking compassion in the reader as it does in the speaker who reveals heartache of his own as he tries to help. His re-telling is precisely what conveys real-life “wondering” and “want.” The necessary last stanza makes me recall not a similar experience, but a friend re-telling similar things, and going on to draw forth my wonder as I listened with affectionate attention.
I carried this heartache so long, and getting it onto the page helped me leave it there.
This is a really intriguing, interesting poem. The imagery is rich: throaty Marlboro laugh (successfully verb-ing Marlboro), cologned (use of another verbed word). Taps and clacks is excellent, both in how the words are the sounds and for how they pull the reader out of the reverie. But the best moment for me is the contrast of how men had tried (the opportunity for love without the ability to open to it) and the surprise that this is mother, not some other female. Really nice work.
Thank you. It must not have been easy for her to try to find a man while trying to raise one. Thank you for the comment!
I’ve just finished reading all the very kind and intelligent comments praising this poem. I’ve been a big fan of your writings since you were able to pick up a pen. Unlike the rest of the commenters I am not a poet but I will leave a short comment anyway. Your poem “beautiful” is real and your one heck of a poet son!
You’re such a homer, Dad, but thanks!
Some of my best friends smoked Marlboros, but none of them ever wrote a poem this good. Back in those days I mostly smoked Camels, but sometimes I found a Lucky Strike.
I’m glad you thought the poem was Kool and enjoyed it like a smooth, rich-flavored Newport.
Michael, this poem is a breathtaking achievement. It is striking in its unflinching honesty which never feels sentimental, just quietly and heart-touchingly brave. The imagery throughout is raw which makes that achingly tender line: “Perhaps her wish—the same as mine: / I only want to see my mother / beautiful” land all the harder. This is one of those poems that will stay with me long after leaving the page. Superb!
Thank you, SJB. You know you’re my favorite, so your praise has double weight.
I can add no more praise to that which has already been expressed above, Michael.
Fantastic!
This reminds me of “8 Mile Road.” Love for the mother comes through in spite of her cringe-inducing choices. Perhaps everyone wishes our mothers had been the perfect ideal? Mine was a perfect lady as far as men and debauchery were concerned, never drank alcohol, never smoked, didn’t drink coffee and rarely even used rude words, but oh how I wished she’d stayed the sleek and glamorous business owner who gave birth to me, instead of becoming the hypothyroid patient who couldn’t keep up with me after giving birth to my sister.
For what it’s worth, despite the picture’s suggestion of her lifestyle choices, I think the woman in the picture IS beautiful. Even in a cheap superficial Madison Avenue way, as well as in a deeper sense.