Trish’s long fingers graze the door knob.
the aroma of pumpkin bread carried through the rest of the house
She wields plastic bags and her personal leather bag all the same.
On the floor, I gaze up at her wondering Pot roast or shepherd\'s pie
Bags under her eyes tell the story of a tedious day
As she boils the water on the black stove
my child patience depletes and I whine.
She stepped away from the glossy burner
she opens the refrigerator and pulled out a few wands of celery
to hold me over for a little while.
Her eyes show an unconditional love
truly a mother to wish for.