She asked of it, "O! What if nobody came?" Astonished, I giggled, her humor amusing. But later, with serious thought of the same, I came to an answer: I found it unsoothing.
My mother, envision with suitcase, descending The staircase, and both seeming down at the mouth. Her warmer clothes rest on the ground, unattended. Her trunks are packed lightly, prepared for the south.
My stepfather clutches his favorite "old soldier" (A twelve dollar bottle, once bubbly, now dead). He stumbles down, grogg'ly, I won't say hungover -- But he's drunk it himself, and it's gone to his head.
They sit down for eggs and the coffee I'll pour. Last breakfast in Louisville; next stop: Gulf Coast, Make home in the sunshine, and then go explore. But she's made it for twenty five years, as she boasts,
In a house softly sighing now, bricks cracked, and red dull. The floors squeak and settle an umptieth time. All Happy, i think, for one year's small lull... Or else quaking in fear, because next year is Mine.
originally written 27 Nov 1998 revised 3 December 1999