Across the Living Room

ACROSS THE LIVING ROOM

We walk together sometimes

across the living room, not going 

anywhere really but going 

in unspoken agreement that it’s a long 

afternoon when mom works

late, so we might as well make 

something of the time and walk 

somewhere, her arms as trinket-

heavy as my mind, neither made for holding 

much with any kind of stability.

She has a giraffe, an elephant, a bird,

and I have words and ideas of how the world 

works—we laugh at each other 

as one slips out and then another. 

Like prostrating pilgrims we stoop to recover

our lost provisions at the sure 

loss of another one, on and on

until suddenly she stops as if realizing

something, twists around and looks

back at me, a step ahead, then drops

her load and spins a series of twirls 

like a bubble floating to the surface, 

all light now.