Mommy, you sift through
these fingers that wanted to
snare you. Off you fly.
Kenge. Green backyard.
You revved up the dynamo
that turned on the lights.
Kenge. Homeschooling.
Me hopscotching the flashcards
while you quizzed the math.
Kenge. My bedroom.
You saying here's your right hand.
Pledge of allegiance.
Strasbourg. Bald winter.
Only time I saw you mad
that I couldn't sleep.
Kinshasa. Parties.
You square dancing, charley horse.
Tears of frustration.
Shouting. Shoes thrown. Yells.
Typing into the late night.
Family projects.
Fevers. Dinners. Prayers.
What am I trying to catch?
You flew through it all.
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