BY CL Bledsoe
Is a full glass on wobbly legs,
hovering over a laptop she can’t
afford to replace.
Is a phone call to make sure
I’m not driving after my second
drink.
Is a fast thing, red and darting,
whereas mine is slow and well-fed.
Rides quietly beside her but mumbles
just out of hearing when she’s trying
to get home from work.
Is a card in the mail, left on the table
to be opened.
Is a ringing phone that might be work.
Sits with her when she finally has time
to eat but doesn’t speak.
Asks her how her day has been and talks
over the answer.
Settles in while she’s making dinner. It has
stories to tell, but remembers them all wrong.
Reminds her after the sun brightens
the morning: I am here.