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.