The three of us, waiting,
A thin wall against the wind.
Dad, listing a little,
His hair slicked back,
His goofy smile.
Mom, with her sharp eyes,
The deep cave under her shoulder blades,
So fierce and afraid.
I’m standing between,
An old little girl,
With arms around them,
Trying to hold on.
Soon these two will be taken—
Wind, voices, shadow, rain—
And I’ll be drifting,
Circling back,
To this small place in the mind.