04-09-2016, 10:01 AM
Dearest Sarah
She was a drifter at heart, our mother;
bent first toward her childhood,
but if not there,
not here.
I was twelve when we went out west,
so you were only five. We sprawled
out blankets in the cool cab of the moving van
mom had bought from some shady cousin.
Just down from the house we found
were sand dunes where we’d watch
the boys on dirt bikes do their gymnastics.
And at the south end
their were quicksand pits that bordered the loony bin.
Almost a moat.
But the mountains, Sarah,
The mountains infolded us all.
I wanted to remind you.
She was a drifter at heart, our mother;
bent first toward her childhood,
but if not there,
not here.
I was twelve when we went out west,
so you were only five. We sprawled
out blankets in the cool cab of the moving van
mom had bought from some shady cousin.
Just down from the house we found
were sand dunes where we’d watch
the boys on dirt bikes do their gymnastics.
And at the south end
their were quicksand pits that bordered the loony bin.
Almost a moat.
But the mountains, Sarah,
The mountains infolded us all.
I wanted to remind you.