on the tarmac worn grey with the footsteps of many travellers

before i walked into a desert night like an oven

stayed in stranger's guest bedrooms and entertained the large labradors lapping up pool water

i stood beside my mother

she so small and

the kind of tough you see every day

a person surviving

clutching at all smiles and

sincerely being bowled over by every small kindness

her path in colder climes;

the welfare check

the advocate advocating on her zombified behalf

the halfway house

the goodwill wardrobe

the foodstamps

and somehow

now

she makes car payments

signs yearly contracts

numbs her loneliness with food

and

teaches the children's choir

on top of everything