Stitches
Where can home be found,
when mother can’t pick up the phone?
I follow her in patchwork,
until I see her brilliance,
once again, in heaven.
happiness wrap me in a queen-sized quilt,
with love’s vagabond stitches
and perfect peace of mind.
I’m like a wandering gypsy without
a home
still, my dad
does care for the sick.
The exchange, of my mom’s compassionate
and push-away arms and
her plum-personality,
for my dad’s smile.
I get all wrapped up in that, too -
the even, zigzag stitches, like glue.
3/29/2022
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