by PMRT
It happens often.I went looking for some love and reassurance.
The world is a difficult place to navigate
In that odd spot of adultescence.
My head was filled with insurance forms
And the how’s and why’s of
Moving on from love.
She starts all advice with “I tell my kids…”
When really she’s talking about her students.
I do not remember the words
That were said; though it felt important
At the time.
The familiar “What I’m trying to say..”
And the “You’re not listening”
Ping-ponging back and forth
A volley of misunderstanding that culminates
In a murmured apology.
My concession of defeat,
Enumerating my wrongs, my learnings.
My mom retreats, turns in on herself.
Hiding in plain sight at her usual spot,
Standing outside on the balcony,
Watering her plants in the pouring rain
Because it was easier than having
To say her own apologies to me.