“Oh Hello…what have you brought there?”
I hold the plate of kid-baked,
in front of her.
Eyes are shinny with expectation as she sits up
Gray hair, unusually clean, a little thinner,
But the same pale blue, opaque nightgown
And same flour-sack breasts shifting underneath
“I’ve been so worried…about my father…
He’s been sick you know”.
Yes. I know
he’s been dead for 40 years.
She calls me a name that’s not mine, and smiles.
She likes me now.
She is happy to see me now.
She wants the cookies.
She is happy for the kindness of strangers.
I want to let it go on…but instead say who I am.
Mommy, who was truly, simply, freely, open to me
for a moment