TAKE OFF YOUR DUNGAREE JACKET

I give my mother the

dungaree jacket

and I don’t say

a word as

she slips it on

and stands just

so

It takes me back

fifty years to

when her hair

was raven and thick

and she also wore

a dungaree jacket

and stood

just so

with her hand

on the screen door

coming out of

the place on Long Nook Road

Her tongue on the

tip of her teeth

We have the photograph

She’s about

to close the door

but just before

she pauses

behind the screen

you can see

There is still the

possibility

That they will

not part

they will pull

their life together

find answers

fifty years done now

Our eyes meet

she buttons up the jacket

I don’t say a word

*words to an old sea chantey