Did you hear me, she repeated during
the final game, no one listening till
she climbed to the roof and jumped. Now I dream
about the mother who gave up, moved on,
checked out, taking charge of the tournament,
making sure all went home losers, even
those with court advantage. What did winning
matter, competition trumped, all those months,
years. I cannot recall her face nor clothes,
for what I read later: she taught something,
recently laid off because of the down
turn, her specialized training not needed.
She took a bus while I drove alone, not
realizing for her all was either
sky or pavement, with nothing in between.
Photo: “Fallen” by lil’_wiz
