Walking
in leather
Through
the
Deafening
silence
Of
fast falling
Snow-
Your
footsteps
The
only
Sound.
Beneath
the glare
Of
a streetlamp,
You
pause,
Lighting
up,
The
only warmth,
To
exhale
Before
moving
Along.
It's
been a while,
Hasn't
it?
Since
you
Thought
About
them;
The
ones
You've
left
Behind.
Some
have forsaken you-
Others
hide deep
In
your echoing heart,
Lingering,
nearly forgotten
Until
a scent or a color;
A
snowflake's slow fall,
Reminds
you
Of
parts they once played.
All
is forgiven-
Your
mother
Walks
at your right,
Frail
hands in lace mittens
Tucked
into your arm,
Joyce
smiles on your left
A
born Californian
Enjoying
the snow.
Separated
by time,
You
escort them in silence,
Content
to listen
As
they confer over you.
There's
hope for you yet,
Their
bad wayward son,
And,
oh, have you seen the
Price
of shoes these days?
Nothing
else matters
As
you escort your
Two
mothers;
Happy
to let
These
two ladies talk,
As
the three of you
Leave
behind
One
set of prints.