She
misses you.
She is sure you are running around with your
shirt untucked,
jam on your
face and your
hair sticking up. It bothers her.
She wants you to
be good, to keep that
tongue in your
mouth, to wipe that
smile off your
face, to
pay attention in
church. Be good today, for her.
She wants the
world for you, to keep you
safe, to hold you
close and never let you
go. It breaks her heart when you're
away.
She still walks the path to your
room hunting for clothes, stepping carefully to miss the
toys, looking for
fingerprints on the walls. She thinks the house is
too big now, without you.
She
remembers you,
pink and squalling, helpless and
hopeful,
innocent and open. The
day you left the house hurt with a special
pain.
Call your mom. She misses you.