How small she looks in the airport
with a large bag at her side
standing straight, white hair.
She always wears dark colors,
practical.
What is this thrum in the belly
when I see her from far, as if
the belly remembers.
She is looking at her phone.
I stop. This is my Mother.
I look like her, in some ways,
and once she was young.
She has a rubber case on her
phone, in case it is dropped.
Practical.
I know she left her house
clean, it’s important to come
home to a nice place, she says.
This is not practical this is
part of the beauty of life,
and coming home alone to mess,
is even more depressing.
But I like my own bed best,
she says, and the quiet in mornings,
when I scatter seed for the birds,
the quiet in evenings, not at all.
That’s when you should call.
Photo by Jenna Christina on Unsplash
