Only one more poem to go after this one! To catch up on the previous parts, click here. 🙂
“Why are you awake?”
Mama’s words drift back over her shoulder
through the circle of lamplight
into the darkness of where I’m standing,
barefoot, in the doorway.
“Can’t sleep.” I say.
What I don’t say
is that I’ve been lying there listening
to the silence of Mama listening,
waiting for the front door to open,
for the familiar footsteps to fumble in
for the voice tinged with moon shine
to hum absentmindedly in the dark
just like he used to.
I don’t say that.
I just pad on over to her rocking chair,
lay my head on her shoulder,
watch her needle flashing in and out
as she mends my faded, dust brown calico
Mama’s good at mending things.
But some things are harder to mend than others.
Come back next week for the final part of this poetic story! I’d love to hear your thoughts on it so far in the comments!