The Wave

The Wave


Since Mommy and Mamaw quit talking, Mamaw stands

on her porch and drinks her coffee when night twinkles

into day, after stars have fallen into the clouds.

Daddy and I drive by on our way to work, our red

car flashing past, speeding because we’re late. She raises

her shaking arm to the sky, doesn’t wave, just lifts,

and, behind the window’s glare, I do mine, both

reaching for the air above us that we can’t grasp.

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