I watch from the living room window
as my mother is helped out of the car
then holds her husband’s arm
before them the uneven sidewalk
the gaps in the stone porch steps
to worry over
as they approach the front door,
I am confident
she will eat—
she loves our company
the meal, her current favorite,
but just one small bite of fried chicken
a forkful of risotto
she butters a morsel of bread and
forgets, it idles at the edge
of the plate,
the sparkling cranberry juice
barely touched,
no momentum
the rest of us eat and talk
while she sits like a throw pillow
in her chair
the contrast throws me,
hurtles me
against a dark wall,
I watch her pick up
her fork and feel
my hopes rise,
put some rice
on your fork, please
put it in your mouth,
please
in your mouth