My mother and I walk
down the hill in boots.
It snows,
just like expectations.
The 11 pm service.
I say I feel my failures
especially the divorce
she says, “Failure?
Forgive yourself.
Everyone has failed.”
We pass railroad tracks
where steam locomotives
used to pass with iron ore.
No trains technologize
this sparkled eve.
I say I feel my loneliness
she says, “Loneliness
is not the worst thing in the world.”
We talk about
the pleasure of solitude.
We live too far
from each other.
My children can’t be here.
I’m her only child who can.
We walk by the hospital
where my father died.
She says she has
no more headaches.
I say I’ve read only the
retarded are happy.
She says, “And that’s
doubtful, too.”
Confession over,
at church we sing.
light a neighbor’s candle
walk home. Silent midnight
snow comes down.
She says it looks like
a Christmas card.
I say, “It is.”
© Jane Piirto. All Rights Reserved.