down
when my mother calls,
and put
it on speaker.
i can hear her sipping on her
tea
and crunching down
on Melba toast.
she tells me a long story about Mitzi,
a woman
she knew from
the old neighborhood
who drove
a blue Mustang,
skinny Mitzi
as she was known.
i've heard this story before,
but it's fine.
i bring up
a basket of clothes
from the basement
and begin to fold them.
once in a while, i'll mutter
something towards
the phone,
like, that's crazy Mom,
unbelievable.
methodically,
i uncling all the socks
and roll them up
into black and white balls.
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