Exercise

The next morning,

I sleep in and wake to find the house

echoing with emptiness.

In the garden,

Mum is on her knees

weeding around the concrete edges

and carefully turning the soil

near the spinach and broccoli.

She stands and massages her lower back.

She wears black tights,

a loose sweater and running shoes.

When she bought the shoes

I told her they looked good

whereas Dad asked what she was planning.

Mum shrugged

and said she might run around the lake

in the evening.

In the end, eight hours standing on the filleting line

was more than enough exercise for one day,

so she paid $125

for shoes to wear while gardening.

Mum washes her hands under the hose

and looks up at the heavy clouds.

She sees me at the open window.

‘I love the rain,’ she says.

‘It washes everything clean.’

She attempts a smile.

‘A chance to start over,’ I reply.

She turns off the tap

and picks a bunch of spinach.

Shaking the dirt from the stalks,

she says,

‘That’s something your father would say.’