her chair

          very sick, my mother spent the last few months of her life in a nursing home.  each time I’d visit I’d find her propped up in a chair by the nurse’s station.  one day I asked “what are you doing out here, mom?”     “I’m waiting to buy my ticket, so I can get on the train.”    …


          when she referred to this color as old-lady-blue              


          summer in your house the morning light poured in spilling on the chenille like warm milk dishes clattering in the kitchen as you made breakfast          

no worries

          I think about those days of barefeet, scraped knees, sunburns, mosquito bites and garden dirt…            


          she strained to hold on to the good parts when the not-so-good parts were hard to shake off