image borrowed from bing
Bread Sticks & Crumbs
Eleven years old and texting;
her two BFFs, on-call, waiting
for her ‘go time’ message as
she sits in a restaurant,
across from her parents (Ugh!)
and next to her
little sister (UGH, UGH!)
The four of us talk
over bread sticks, and laugh
until soda spurts out of our noses.
There’s not one mention of
the BFFs on standby.
Tonight, the moon shone
upon the bread-crumbed path
I leave for her each day, and
as we drive home, one hour past
the estimated ‘go time,’ I say,
“Thank you. I’m proud of you.”
In the SUV’s back, back seat,
she smiles sheepishly and
mumbles something about
‘having fun.’ (Weeee!)
In the front seat, a mother’s breath
catches; her heart melts, and I
discreetly toss more
bread crumbs out the window,
all the way home.
Sheila Moore
Posted over on her site She's Writing
Listed as #2 over on dVerse Poets-Undercurrents
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