standing at the station watching the trains come in
every Sunday she stands waiting, the three o’clock
watching passengers disembark, stretching to not
miss the one she is waiting for.
the longer she waits the fewer passengers
soon the steps are pushed back , engines come to life
screeching of brakes can’t mask the screams in her
heart and soul as she stands and cries out her daughters name
after a time a young man walks up puts his arms around her
shoulders and says” it’s time grammie, she went to heaven
the bent gray haired wrinkled ol’ woman looks up seeing the little boy rather than the man
“your momma’s in heaven?” he nods tears stopping his voice from speaking
he doesn’t know how much longer he can do this each Sunday.
sometimes he wishes gram would go on to heaven and be with
momma but he can’t bear being without both of his mothers
holding her arm helping her into the car, knowing
next Sunday he will come for her again when she wanders off.