momma, come back to me
i climbed to the tallest rock i could find to look over my city, sat on a patch of lichen, and listened to the heather.
it told me that you were lost, that you were having a hard time finding your way back to our small white house,
nestled in the valley below.
i told it to be patient.
i told it to unravel the sails of our boat,
to move the curtains that would wake the cat sitting in our window, belly up to the sun.
to lift the smoke out of the cigarette still lit in nancy's ashtray
from here the houses looked like red dots on dark green rocks, bubbling up from a black sea.
my palms have indents in the shape of pine needles, where i knelt on the ground looking for you.
they smell like the dampness of earth on a foggy day.
children run around the brigge and scream in laughter, but I don't hear yours.
come back to me, momma.