Good Son
That summer your dad died
and we brought your mom
to stay a few weeks
‘til she moved to the nursing home
we drove east to Saskatchewan
the huddles of family
I’d never met
softly recounting your father’s fading
while Bessie washed dishes without a word
and looked for something
newly misplaced
Only you
her fiftieth gift child
who’d strategically shirked
corporate success
could flick the switch of recognition
her pleading eyes a conversation
translated in flesh
Back at home with a change of plan
to live together
as long as we could
with the front door swinging
the kettle screaming
dry on the stove
and Bessie shuffling the winding road
in search of church or bingo
'Til leaning down to hug “goodnight”
your eyes her open sky
where every memory softly whispered
Bessie back into the light
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