My mother   she said my name
and I wanted her to keep   on  saying it
just because I wanted him to hear
And  I know  I shouldn’t look  too long
into his eyes when he asks
“how’s her back?”
“from a scale of 1 to 10, how much is she hurting?”
So I stare awkwardly   around the office
At the old women on ellipticals
At former athletes trying to regain their strength
At the people---like my mother---with broken pieces
trying to get back their normalcy

I know I shouldn’t want him
to touch me the way he touches my mother
when he smoothes her knots, down her back
down into her waist and legs
He nods politely as I tell him about my mother’s
last visit to the podiatrist, how she had twisted
her ankle and he had kindly placed
a boot to stabilize it
He nods respectfully as I translate my
mother’s comments:
“el dolor no esta muy mal hoy”

“Today the pain is not so bad”