in shiny wonder

my mother,  

God rest her soul,

lived across the bridge, 

unmoved.

there was no where else 

she wanted to be.

nowhere else she wanted 

to go.

there was the blue sofa.

a yellow bird

singing in a cage,

a simple garden in the yard.

she never laid her eyes 

upon the pyramids, or

the Eiffel Tower, or 

the Empire State building,

although she once knew 

a woman

who leaped to her death 

from that great height.

she never flew across the country,

or took a cruise 

to some exotic land.

her feet never touched 

the ocean on either shore,

but if you asked her where 

the canned tomatoes were,

or the black olives,

large and pitted,

in the grocery store,

she'd smile and tell you 

with great pride,

the aisle and row,

the position on the shelf

where they sat

in shiny wonder.