Leaving My Mother in the Kitchen for Things I Don’t Really Need To Do

I wish I had the time
To stop and chat
But I have some things to do right now
That I can't get out of
I'm sorry
I know I said I would
But we can always talk another day, right?
It's not like we only have today, right?
Right?

The path between the front door and the
driver's seat
Reminds me that there are seventeen stones sunken into the soil
Including the one
I made in first grade
With the dragonfly
In shining slivers of glass
I know you said you liked it
But I really have no way of knowing
‘Cause everyone tells their kids that

Right now
I know you're getting ready
To casually flick the garbage disposal switch
And return the bread to the drawer
Where it lives
Between the cutlery and plastic bags
Swinging back around
To sort the forks and knives into their
little burrows
In the wash crate
White plastic mesh
Constructed to withstand
High heat and sudsy water

I start the engine
And the rumbling reminds me
That the last thing I ate
Was cinnamon toast
That you made for me
And you ate the heel
While I got the good pieces
That were fluffy on both sides
Somewhat unfair
Considering you prepared everything
All I did was clear my plate
And leave the tray on the counter by the sink
As if it would have taken too long
To rinse it off and put it in the ­dishwasher

I can only wish now
That I will get the chance
To drop a little gratitude
In your tip jar

The one I've been filling with hugs
For quite a long time