My mother's eating lasagna, and it's raining outside.
She's watching her drama show again,
the one that's set on a ranch in Australia.
I can't hear it.
I'm focusing on the rain, and the tingles running down my spine.
Her fingernails are absently scratching trails up and down
my right shoulder blade.
I am seventeen, but here, I am nothing more than hers.
My nose is tucked into the back of her knee.
I am once more cradled by her body.
My arms are clutching round her crossed legs.
When the show is over, I will kneel still, collapsed
at the feet of my lifeguard, my nurse, my teacher, my saving grace.
She'll lightly run her fingernails in ovals over my scalp,
and read me verses from Isaiah.
Then it's off to bed.
I'll be back next week to wrap my shaking hands round her
crossed legs and hide my face. She will be there next week
to pet the anxiety out of me.