Mama's Not Alone

i hover around the edges, waiting for something to break,

or to take orders.

home for the holidays, no steady pulse of tradition

or freeze-frame beatific glow,

more an avalanche of reactive spikes, the occasional nosedive.

that’s pretty much every one of us,

frenzied and blue and thankful.

not perfect but more than holy enough

that my baseline is bliss;

thank you for unloading the dishwasher.