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.’