FIGURE OF MOTHER

Sit by, listen to the clock twitch,
night moves gently slower,
as the vertical hold statically
flips on.
The small house seems to
sway as a chilled wind vacantly
calls about the new red shutters.
Cluttered debris occupies a far side
of the table, stacked
neatly in piles.
Soft around the edges,
playing cards fall out from
under a restive palm.
Another hand waits over a hard mouth,
white puff,
thumb resting on the corner.