Yesterday, my mother visited her sister
for the first time since June.
Her sister lives in a nursing home.
An aide tested positive. The residents were confined
to their rooms. She tells me about it over breakfast.
Instant oatmeal. The clock radio sighs
a report on the confirmation hearing.
I catch a few words, phrases, like conversations
overheard in a restaurant. “Severability” and “stare decisis.”
“Walk in like a royal queen.” “They’re gonna push it through
with a straight face,” my mother says.
My attention’s been poor. She doesn’t mind. She knows.
The weather was warm for her visit. They sat in a garden,
surrounded by hydrangea, six feet apart.