mmdcxcviii

      If my legs aren’t long is no
     see how long.     a crowd.
                       —Susie Timmins

My mother cannot walk
the way she used to,
perhaps like most of us.

And I haven’t been able
to afford to get her a
ticket to visit me

in something like five
years. When she’d
visit regularly, she

seemed to really
love it (Who wants
to travel constantly

back to Arkansas from
San Francisco? Especially
when one’s first trip abroad

was at 40 [and to Paris!!]);
we’d walk up and down 

the seven (or 48) hills.  

Or, during more recent

visits, we’d hold soirees
for her in the apartment

(the one in which I’m 

currently sitting). Any

thing could act as an 

excuse to have one (e.g.,
"Hey, everybody, Mom’s 

here!").  We’d taxi often to 

brunches, lunches, dinners 

and suppers.  And there was 

always the "day trip" — often 

to Sonoma and/or Calistoga. 

Or we would head down south

for some fresh strawberries,

gotten roadside, over which
she never tired of swooning.