What Mom Carries

by Nicole Taylor

She lives with my brother’s family.

My maternal mother peers at my book
on the butcher block counter,
Dorrianne Laux’s What We Carry,
she repeats the title.

I carry a lot
she tells me and I
know this. I just watched
her wind the portable
computer and cord
and carry them downstairs.

I just watched her carry her orange juice
across the kitchen to answer
the door, to let in my hip nephew,
returning home this late evening.

I just watched her carry piles of laundry.
She picks up a knee-length soccer sock
saying “This goes in their room,”
“This is Nate’s” my hip fifteen year old
skateboarding, video-gaming nephew,
and “That’s Nate’s.” She carries
Dad and Mario in her memory.

Journal, Volume 2 Issue 6