When I try to see my mother in this world,
standing in a dusty field, confused
and taking tentative steps like a child—
when I try to see her there, after
she’s climbed out of the car she’d driven
over the shallow ditch miles from home—
when I try to see her there, wondering
why she’s not at the store or home,
maybe wondering where her son is—
when I try to see her there,
I can hear nothing
but small birds in high branches
and the distant barking of a dog
at the edge of an unseen fence.
He’s heard the wheels’ thump, creak
of old shocks, maybe the horn. He’s barking
at what he can’t see. When I try to see
my mother there, I hear the barks
becoming fainter, more intermittent
as the dog begins to understand
that nothing’s happened, no one’s coming.