Get Well Soon

Your foot peeks out of the blankets in the hospital bed, twirling.

My mind makes a perfect match. You’re happy.

Ever since Miles was a baby baby, only a year and a half ago, when he is content, one foot spins.

Now you, my mom, show signs. You’re getting better. In what ways? The most important at the moment.

This sickness is mean.

You ask a question, I stop to think and you laugh that raucous laugh while saying, “You look just like your father”.

You’re rooted deeply and in all the things I love most.

And I love you. Please keep getting better.