On the Porch With My Mother

The Lark poetry competition: the long goodbye — fourth place winner

Rocking on the porch, Mom silently dredges her memory for my name. Who will I be today?

Her feet shuffle, muscle memory of a dance hall with her navy boy, slanted cap for a rakish look. He still haunts the back bedroom.

Blackbirds scatter from a branch like the fractured shadow of an old oak.

I remember the summer Mom birthed my imagination, skipping in the shade and patterns of leaves in the backyard.

Blackbirds return to bare branches, winter catches in Mom’s throat, she mouths the patterned memories of her husband’s darkness,

teaches me compassion for this long goodbye, this scuffling among changing shadows of the ancient oak tree.