the missing plate

once upon a time
when your mother was young,
younger than you are
now, you remember
the cast on her arm,
the bruise on her cheek bone,
the broken glasses
tapped together
at the bridge
of her nose,
a small white bandage,
and her sitting
on the front porch
crying, her long
hands covering her face.
you remember how hard
she cried,
and then how she came
in to make dinner
for the seven of you.
not putting a plate
out for him.