mom

Sometimes I take on the persona

of my mother,

The one who never knew

poverty & insecurity among middle-school peers.

The mother of vacations –

pale flesh, cute fat toes, chubby cheeks, and “perfect family”,

dishes with lids, color-coded and labeled system of perfection,

clothes neatly folded

swim wear, beach toys, and sunglasses.

He wouldn’t keep her at the house by tampering with the car today.

She wouldn’t be insulted at the office

by the old men and the old men’s sons of old money

dominant money of the oil elite

oil, gas, lumber, rodeo.

She expresses her freedom through smiles and “ok’s”

as we wander off with bikes or sand buckets.

Or maybe it was me who was free –

no one to climb into my bedding.

my sister – always cartoons and sodas.

my children crash the waves

sit in the sand

Zane says, ---  “Life is like a wave –

                                       you either catch it or you don’t.”