everyone is home, almost

sometimes
in the shadows
of your mind
you see your mother
on her knees
in the kitchen.
there is a metal
bucket beside
her, a rag,
a brush she pulls
across the bright
yellow linoleum
floor.
her black hair
is tied
back.
she has the radio
on.
it's the platters
singing
her favorite
song. she sings
along, heavenly shades
of night are falling...
she is at peace,
the children
in bed.
the world is quiet
and still.
everyone is home,
almost.