I stop somewhere waiting for you.
I see you sitting there,
on the left corner of the worn out sofa.
Your fingers type
A steady stream of words
That coils and coils and constricts my chest.
My death has always nested in you.
My sorrow floats, this stormless cranberry field
The beads between my fingers.
Say the name! Say the name!
I weave you. I unweave you.
The thread of the road lies plain and bare,
The only shelter, motherhood.
You smile through the screen.
Period.
Migrating the tenderness, this, yours,
Toward stranger shores that promise home.
Somewhere , I have stopped waiting for you.