Lisa’s mom has put out cereal boxes
and sits in the garden,
talking on her phone,
a book resting in her lap.
Lisa makes me scrambled eggs
with cheese without asking.
Gretchen just texted me.
Lisa smiles. We’re gonna meet her
sometime this summer.
I think about Gretchen and Lisa.
I think about how
everything seems like a new chance.
My mother comes
shortly after we eat.
Her moccasins and work pants are absent,
her tank top and paint-drenched
canvas shirt
missing.
She wears some kind of business suit,
gray over a white shirt, but still
with her silvery necklace.
I don’t recognize the way she looks in it.
She hugs everyone, asks me standard
Did you? questions that all parents ask.
Did you have a good time?
Did you brush your teeth?
Did you get any sleep?
Did you keep to your diet?
Did you thank Lisa’s mom?
I try to anchor myself to the next time
I get to see Lisa.
We hug, agree on soon,
and drive off toward the city.