I long to speak his name
have him hear me and answer
with his deep voice that always
took me by surprise.
I long to see him walk out of his
room with his hair standing on end
and head for the cereal box,
heft the gallon of milk from the fridge
and slurp it on and in.
I long to hear him whistle a tune,
to sit still and hear the saxophone come
to life, see his long, strong fingers
moving on the sax and his mouth on
the reed as he plays with such feeling,
eyes closed, putting himself into each
note whether it was the gator stomp
or the midnight blues.
I long to see him walk in the room
so tall and handsome, hug me so
tight, then lean over to kiss my cheek.
I long to hear him say my name
Mom, or Mama, or Ma, depending
on what mood he was in that day
even old parental one would make me
I long to hear his jokes or hear him
talk about something and get so tickled
himself that he’d laugh his all out
wide open, knee slapping laugh.
I long to pick up the phone when it rings
and hear those words, hey mom, what’s up
I thought I’d come home this weekend.
I long to cook him spaghetti and hear his
praise for something so simple, so easy,
see him lying on the couch to watch TV
and fill the house with his presence...
just that would be enough, just presence.
April 27, 2009