my mama

my mama boards a train
for days and nights
holds her stick through
another lurch
takes in the pacific,
the columbia,
snaps shots and sends them
my way
to reassure me
that she is,
of course,
fine

though it's hard to stand
on solid ground
these days and
the train jolts equilibrium
so she waits for her dinner
to arrive
on a tray
sends another sweet text
reads her fabulous books
watches the hours pass

and finds herself in a
tiny mountain town
states from where she began.
she waits for us to arrive,
walks with her Winnie
up and down the boulevard
up and down.
examines the pottery and local
photography, muses that the books
seem old
in the local bookstore,
they probably are,
nothing has the same sheen
around here,
though the mountains shine green
and the june light is
pretty remarkable.

she settles herself in
to day after day with
my strange children
their imaginations and frizz
their quick tempers and
wild songs

the week passes too quickly and
once again
the train awaits.
we circle the lake,
take in the hues of blue
the clouds and curves,
find all the ways we
are the same
the way we can talk for hours
break it down
eat every last
decadent bite,
I think my lack of worry
is refreshing,
I'd rather a perfect bite
than no bite,
the pork belly,
beets and beef tips,
languid in their splendor
and we move through
our surreal moment
in the little mountain town
where she'll await her train
a little lady with
tremendous adventure
though you might not know her
that way
beneath the control is a gal
who wants to see the world,
jumped ship from south africa
alone for weeks
to come to this country
she knew one man
for a few days
one man
oceans away

we can't not call her
brave
badass
my mama
visits
on the train.