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