Above the jogging couple a single leaf
reddened in the shadow
of the neon of summer
their faces glowed
as they lurched forward
glancing at each other as if,
by running again along a new route
they could keep
the old roads from view.
Clouds rimmed their town
with fresh mountainous pillars
dry and sparkling,
the words always there
between the days
of waiting for each breath
and knowing.
She waited
in the hospital rooms
in wallpapered halls and under crocheted throws.
She couldn’t help her mother anymore
but never said the word, goodbye.
It meant she would have to look back
and forward to recognize the road she’d chosen.
So she ran,
fresh and wet and charged
medicated by endorphines
he filled
the moments given
without knowing how to help
and kept the words coming
each hello a gift.
Every shared thought a valve
to open and liquefy the loneliness.
Fed and warmed and burning the fall
without losing their way,
they ran.
My mother's birthday contiues to be an anniversary for reflection, 2 1/2 years after her death. No longer in the throws of mourning mixed with infatuation for the world, I can savor the memories, one at a time. Good bye is still so final....
