When she comes

i like setting the coffee pot for the morning
i like talking about my grandparents
i like watching her unpack her chocolates
i like debating over the meaning of life
i like eating goat cheese and herbed crackers
i like going to see Blue Jasmine at the Angelika
i like talking about death and dying
I like hearing her musings on love and life
i like picking out treats at the bakery together
i like expressing my fears with accidental tears
i like laughing over margaritas in the corner of a bar
i like hearing about her loss
i like dreaming of a trip to Prague
I like saying I don’t know what I would do without her
i like holding her arm as we walk home
i like finding her note after she leaves,
signed,
“I love you, Mum.”