(No subject)

my mother cries most days

hot humid days when the sun sets at 8:30

short winter days with frost

on her basil plants still producing

sweet leaves for sunday’s sauce

spring days when the birds come

close to the porch where my mother stares

asking me why the birds don’t stop and visit longer.

my mother cries most days

not remembering

the last time we spoke

the last time I saw her

that two of her siblings are still alive

that she spent 65 years as a seamstress

spending seven days a week

going to rich women’s homes

bending her 4 foot 10 inch frame

pinning hems, shortening sleeves

price tag on a jacket that cost more

than our monthly grocery bill.