The phone rings;
it’s her son.
She goes into
mother mode.
She brings me
two thick, small
pieces of ham
while she talks.
I think I know her;
but I don’t know
her as mother.
She seems foreign,
distant in spite
of the offering.
I think about my
former life — a
dead wife who
still plays
with my mind
the way she did
in life. Sometimes
it is all very
confusing and still
strange even after
twenty-two years.
My wife just brought
me a glass of wine.