The Maid
Robert Allen
August 2, 2026
Because Papa works
and Mama’s away, I know what it’s like
when the only grownup around our house
has skin whose color is like the crayon
sometimes used for the bark of trees.
I know
the sound of a voice with a dusky edge,
calling me in from play in our backyard.
I know what it is like to see someone
search for radio stations at the end
of the dial, and to realize she can dance
without moving her feet.
I know the smell
of cigarette smoke and ash.
At the close
of a long day, I know what it’s like
to rest in this woman’s warm lap and watch
Amos ‘n Andy.
I know how laughter
comes welling up from a place deep inside.
I know, too, what it is like to struggle
with the matching of socks after laundry
because she is colorblind.
I know what
separation is like because these arms
that hold me now are loving, but never
will they be my mother’s arms.
I know what
grief is like, because I’ve seen her youngest
weep for his mother, throwing his body
across her coffin while the congregation
sings a hymn of praise.
I know this woman.
Robert Allen lives in San Antonio with his wife, two children, one cat, and five antique clocks. His poems have appeared in The Senior Class, Lone Star Poetry, and the Texas Poetry Assignment. He loves cardio-boxing and facilitates the in-person Open Writers Lab at Gemini Ink. His parents founded and managed Allen Electric Company, an electrical contracting firm in San Antonio for sixty-three years. In the 1950's while Allen Electric was wiring the original Wilford Hall Hospital, Robert's mother was diagnosed with tuberculosis, and Robert's father hired a secretary for the business and a maid to help raise Robert and his two older brothers. (Grandma came to live with the family as well.) The maid's name was Imogene White. She worked for the Allen family until her death in 1986.