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