the children and their father
are visiting far family
–the other coast kin.
Silence woke me at 5,
in nature’s alarm,
floored by fleeting time’s passing.
So I padded through a dark kitchen
out the French doors opening
to trees, wall-ivy and cement.
Fog painted my yard early or
late last night.
gathering fruit like ancients before me,
I pluck a near ripe tangerine.
Only the witness and I ruffle the thick, cool air,
she inside, me out–both dark of day denizens.
Inside, the brewed elixir–arisen–awaits
the heat of my lips, warm breath
chicory and oily coffee bean permeates.
Drawn along softly in my wake,
every step and saunter, click
and rushing air precipitated by
daylight’s motion in muted tones,
she watches–just in case.
I feel her eyes and cast mine downward.
Patience–she sits center in wait,
eyes beaming a steady pinpoint plea:
Notice me. Give me hand.
And I do, bent over her supplication
until the toaster pops and
the noise straightens my knees
and takes my face away.
A bite of breakfast timed to her arrival,
stirrings from rooms behind,
the caretaker wheels her in,
the ritual rousing now complete.
brain-shut in stifled words
uttered inside an airy maze,
once an ordered, meter-mind
sounding poetry and song, love
and laughter, the mothering kind.
“Good morning, Mom.
Another unpromised day greets us,
so let’s play the lottery with our luck.”
Her inward stare toward the window
flickers only hair trigger slightly.
And the powerful sun,
still swallowed in mist