The Round Blue Oil-Clothed Table

Sitting at the round blue oil-clothed table,

Me by her side on a visit,

She sorts her letters and bills 

And only complains a little.

Sitting at the round blue oil-clothed table

In her daughter’s Texas kitchen,

She lines up her medications

And explains each one by one.

Sitting at the round blue oil-clothed table

On my visit of a few days,

She tells stories of the past

And laughs and cries and laughs.

Sitting at the round blue oil-clothed table

Me back home and family off on their own for dinner,

She eats the egg and cheese sandwich

I showed her how to make in the microwave.

Sitting at the round blue oil-clothed table

She  identifies her next and last bout with pneumonia

And on waking early the next morning

Asks her son-in-law to take her to Emergency.

Mom has since passed, on my birthday in fact,

Gave me birth on the very same day

She continued the next part of her journey

And still she sits, in my thoughts, at the round blue oil-clothed table.