My mother at the kitchen table, tethered
to the twisty phone cord, tethered to her friends,
Smoking, laughing, so many words to listen to,
so much to say.
winding myself around her legs at first,
soaking in her habits.
Eventually a cordless phone let her wander
through the garden where i watched from afar,
Repelled by the smoke, attracted to the laughter.
beds, gloves, masks, hand sanitizer,
and nurses always, someone who will stay, who will get the vaccines, not get pregnant right away.
also ferry operators. ones who will wear the orange vests and work the holiday weekend.
pipes that aren't frozen. plumbers if they are.
men to run the tire center on a Sunday.
grocery store checkers that know where the temporary tattoos are.
children's swim instructors who don't mind being the ones to notice the wall is sagging,
the Chinese restaurant upstairs is sinking into the pool,
calling the alarm, canceling the classes, being the hero.
young beautiful couple
talking about diving, spear fishing,
kelp forests, "a recreational dive."
she forgot a hair tie, he
a towel, they share
a tall tumbler of champagne,
wonder when the ferry leaves.
across the hot tub
keeping my eyes
and the ferry schedule to myself.
my daughter watching then growling,
back and forth between a
swimming tiger, then dead,
then a dog, then dead, then a tiger again,
then dead, then a dog,
back and forth, back and forth
across our side of the hot tub
until they leave.
