Second Thoughts on a Winter Afternoon

Your mother is sick & all I can think of is how sick’salso a word for cool, like ill, though maybe ill

is becoming outdated, & sick too, & actually it’s a lieI can only think of that, I can also think of my mother,

how your mother’s pancreatic cancer doesn’t soundas pretty as the problem my mother has with her heart,

heartbeat, & I can even think my mother has it tougher,though it isn’t cancer, & of course I’d think that, she’s mom,

mommy, though of course this woman is mom, mommyto you, & mommy is very sick, & actually I hate how words

get outdated or we outgrow them, & think you do, too,saying things like poochie & good gravy, & maybe that’s why I

call you sweetie pie & you call me sweet baby, & how can wemake things stay? how can I, when my brain is all wind, drift—

while you’re on the phone with thoughtful relatives, I try tosit, think nothing, but then notice dust swirling in a beam

of bright, so think, as I’ve thought since mom once told me,that the light made the dust rise, dance, beautiful—

when on second thought, I can see the dust was just there,just dirt, & the light only made it visible.