999 R

etched leaves onto a wooden chair
put close to the dining table
crumbs still scattered
on the placemats and the napkins
used last night

glass doors on the bookshelf
still left open
children’s books
inserted upside down
their titles a mix of gibberish
or sentimentality

trucks rumbled across the pavement
one could see them
if he were to sit on the swing
once white but now chipped
with its brown skin showing

the mother kept her glasses
in a plastic case by the bathtub
when
not a question of “if”
they fell in
she would wear them with soap
still on the lenses
smile a grin she has kept
unchanged for half a century

every place she goes
she takes that place with her