Bars&Memories

experimental

The last time I saw my mother was fourteen years ago.

 

It was in June, when the flowers of South Texas all panted in thirst from the drought that gripped

 

And sneered.

 

The grass was gray-brown and cracking under our feet, and I remember hugging her goodbye.

 

I remember how long her hug lasted, and how, at the end of it, she added an extra littlescrunch and whispered in my ear.

 

And we both promised

 

            To pretend

 

That we would see each other again, and we would have homemade chocolate cookies and milk—like we did when I was ohsosmall.

 

And it would be March.

 

And the flowers wouldn’t be thirsty.

 

But I’m stuck here and she’s stuck

           

            There,

 

Drinking a glass at the window, looking, looking, lookinglooking out, and half-daydreaming that she sees me running down the road, her name printed in gold on the hug I hold

 

Waiting.

 

Now,

 

I would give anything to see

 

Those thirsty flowers of June

 

Again,

 

But all I know is

 

Bars and memories,

 

And it will be sixteen years until I see my mother again.