This fell out of my head at three o'clock in the morning. I scribbled it down in the dark in the journal I call the Midnight Writer that I keep beside my bed. It is raw, unfinished, and this is only part of it. I present it just the way it fell on the page. I don't really even know what it is about. What I do know is that my Mother couldn't walk when she woke up this morning.
3:00 A.M.
My connection to her is
that she is a stranger
finger tips idle
on the table top
she waits
like I do
Quiet clatter of coming and going
and always the beep beep beep
and wait and worry and don’t know
The tick of the clock on the wall
is a lie