I barely
made it on time, inching along the freeway at
fifteen miles an hour, streetlights splashing
Vermont snow, racing down
the corridor, pleading, trying to find
room 105
wondering if sweet memories of
my mother
are winging their way
to my home in Oakland
seeking a place to land
do they think I am harsh,
judging her for Vicodin days
Jim Beam nights, brutal rages
maudlin tantrums
I am & I do
sunlight of sifted dawn, checking the sky
for a flight of larks or starlings bringing
spoons of silver in their beaks
salty healing
in winter
