• tmdisarro 5w

    MOTHER 1963

    Mother holds my hand
    As we wait for the bus
    Just the way she always does
    Every Saturday morning
    Standing in the cold
    Never feeling quite so warm
    Knowing she is there
    Close beside me
    Then entering the bus
    With greetings from the driver
    We scramble for a seat
    Try to keep our balance
    Pulling away with
    How long will it take?
    "Not too long" she says
    Watching cars and traffic
    Strangers come and go
    Stopping at every block
    Down the busy avenue
    Into the grey of the city
    Stepping off the bus
    Dirty buildings
    Tower above us
    We walk along
    In silence
    She holds my hand
    The city is is alive
    In all it's concrete glory
    Breathing in dust
    Exhaust and light snow
    Buildings like castles
    Hectic sidewalks
    Moving in all directions
    When will we be there?
    Mother answers “a little longer”
    Like she always says

    TM DiSarro

    ©2018 TM DiSarro/MindScapes Publishing


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