If you see a mom…
Early on a Sunday morning…
In an empty parking lot…
Leaning on a steering wheel…
Face down on her folded arms…
It’s nothing important.
Honestly, you wouldn’t even…
It’s the hole the squirrels chewed into the soffit,
And this isn’t her first time,
And it’s all the condensation cup circles,
And don’t text,
And it’s the sliding minivan door that’s off-kilter,
And don’t attempt to understand,
And it’s the beeping smoke alarm,
And she doesn’t want to do this,
And it’s the pile of unread books,
And don’t make that face,
And it’s that mountain of Wal-mart donation bags full of clothes.
I know I am, but if I know it,
Then I’m not.
If this is my sanctuary,
Then let it be that, please.
I don’t have a walled garden of flowers.
This is what I have, where I have.
Don’t you think I know crazy when I feel it pulsing?
If you give a mouse a cookie…
I think I might have.
You know how it will be.
If you don’t get it,
Do you think I care?
If you don’t…