My mother is yawning in her sleep.

Eyelids heavy, with Heaven's gates.


Maybe, he’d let her sleep longer.

She was safer within these walls.


Smooth his own wrinkles,

Before waking her.


She’ll shower till the faucet sends her

shivers down the drain.


Until, someone shows up to unclog it.


Put on her favorite song, let her dance away the cold with Bardot.


Bare feet meet

snow, on a May day.


Till he brings her socks, and warms her hands

With his own.


Then, she’d shuffle in circles with shadows

after dark

when the sun had slipped behind the house.

Hoping to see her again tomorrow.

When she was a little warmer.