home before dark

be home before dark,
my mother
would say
from the couch where she slept
most nights
after my father ran off
with doris, the neighborhood
Avon lady.
she never asked where we were
going at eight a.m., carrying
fishing poles and a tub
of night crawlers
found under rocks the night
before.
she never asked if we had money,
or food,
are we bringing water.
never said, be careful,
don't drown. don't talk
to strangers.
it was just be home before
dark.
that said it all,
then she lay back down
and tried to sleep some more.