She’s left us tomatoes
on occasion
and little sour plums
and the grapes that break
between your fingers,
loose in their skins.
My mother goes down
to her house, takes
some extra apples,
some potatoes.
When she sees her in town
my mother walks with her
taking small steps, listening
to her talk.
When I see her in town,
I say hello.
I smile.
No comments:
Post a Comment