My mother says “hi” to other people

with kind enthusiasm

as we walk under white puffy clouds

around the neighborhood

We see the neighbor’s dog, drooling

“He’s just a puppy,” my mother says

“Mom, he’s an old man; that’s old man drool.”

I notice that she is so fragile and small,

so loving and eager for life

she watches people and notices things

“What are you going to do, later today?” She asks.

“I think I’ll read Hegel.”

“Oh, you mean, Hegel.”

“No, Hegel; this is why I can’t talk right mom.”

“Oh, stop,” she laughs.

Growing up happened so fast

she was a good mom

and when we are home, I read her a poem

and my dad sits down quietly

listening to my words

I do wish I could bottle these moments

it’s a shame not be to be able to have them forever

we drink them in

and get drunk on merry times

they don’t last

and we don’t know them

until they’ve past

family is something we are searching for

and we know the degrees of separation

like the divide between close friends and those that are far away

it’s a Grand Canyon between us and the rest of the world

and family is close

sometimes, closer than we’d like them to be

we get hurt

when we see family go through sickness

and there is a sadness we have not yet discovered

So, I walk with mom, around the neighborhood

enjoying the moments at home

that won’t last.