my mother never listens to music anymore

just a somber reflection

My mother never listens to music anymore.
She used to swivel her hips in the kitchen
Singing along to 80’s movies soundtracks,
Or fight a cry while Janis yowled.

But now her days are silent.

Occasionally, a brick red sunset finds
Her for me, moving along that boulevard
Or this boulevard.
More and more she looks like a woman
I do not know, would not talk to,
Might give spare change.

Perhaps she remembers the words
To her favorite song as she carries on;
Her tired bones.

Perhaps she remembers home, or what once was home.
Perhaps her children’s faces rush through her mind
As does the drug through the blood.
Perhaps it is foolish to hope to one day hear my mother sing again.