Dear Mom

i want to tell you everything:

the morning sky,

the red japanese maple,

acorns, conkers, and beech nuts

crunching underfoot

the wet that gets everywhere

the mold and the gray days,

and my morning drives with you

over hills and down through

the fog pooling in the derwent valley

Ada’s curls,

her sleepy face,

her angel hair and skinny knees

i want to sit next to you

on this couch under knitted blanket

with instant coffee and half-and-half

watching darkness lift

from black to blue to pale gray,

the garden coming into focus

we would wait for the footsteps

and the little voice

at the top of the stairs.

our eyes would light up,

smiles would pour back and forth

how lucky, how

lucky can we get