Today I saw mother walking through her usual gauze of blindness –
finger to cigarette and cigarette to mouth, breathing in friends and
smiling at the relief their exhalation brings
She lived wanting a happy ever after ending like those that slept
lazily in the final words of books she read, far from the Minneapolis
sunset, or the reality of her upbringing.
Then I understood how there were no fixed or predetermined
outcomes, how even the creative sea lacked the ability to
duplicate the form or sound of any of its endless waving.
Today I saw mother differently than the day before, now she lounged
on the couch of the rested upstairs room reading letters from near and
far sipping fragrant green tea.
She sang hope sounds through hazy laughter lifting the spirits of
those around her, filling the silent crevices with the putty of joy, until
laughing too long, her wounds opened again.
Then I saw I was just her son, how as honest as that was I’d never be
her everything – bright eyed dew child, her perfect one and only –
come home to save the innocent dawn.