|TIME FOR MY MOTHER
As if no time had passed at all,
we sit on lawn chairs on my front
a small town thing to do
on a summer evening
such as this, and soak-in the palpable
The sounds of children playing far
off out of sight,
the occasional car slowly passing,
this could have been a similar
when I was becoming callow.
Then my mother would give me
a saved canning jar,
and I would leap kid-like
around the yard snatching fireflies
that blinked on and off like ephemeral
just as they are doing this evening
as the sun we face deepens red
and begins to set.
And she draws my attention north
where long cloud-streams of pink
and baby blu
covered with layers of encroaching
take our breaths into the sky.
There, beyond high
power lines, swifts, or are they
dart and twinkle catching insects.
This has been a long century
since her grandparents homesteaded
her father a teacher, her mother
And this is our sunset,
even when we cannot see the other's