Each in turn in time
At the kitchen table,
My mother and I sat.
Nothing new to discuss
Silence covered us.
Sometimes we glanced at each other.
Mostly, we stared ahead
Or at the plants
We always struggled to keep alive.
My mother lit another long cigarette,
Inhaled the smoke,
Blew it out in curls,
Spectral tendrils swirling
Bout her head.
At times, I looked up
To my mother’s eyes.
At times, I looked down
To my mother’s eyes.
At times, one of us would sigh
In spring breezes as if to start
Speaking soft words.
At times, one of us would sigh
In harsh winter winds as if to start
Hurling weaponized words.
In front of me,
I had a glass of milk
Or a cup of coffee
And once a vodka tonic with extra limes.
My mother had coffee in front of her
But more than once, many times
More than once, did…
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