Take Off Your Dungaree Jacket And Give Yourself A Rest

Words to “Patty West”, an old sea chanty

I give my mother the
dungaree jacket
and don’t say a word
as she slips it on
    

and stands, just so

It takes me back fifty years
her hair raven and thick
when she wore a different
dungaree jacket
coming out of our home
on Higgins Hollow Road

One hand still on the thumb latch
of the front door
Her other on the screen door
a Camel cigarette
between her fingers
right leg poised for a step

she’s in a pause

Her smile still holds the possibility
she and my father will not part
They’ll pull it together, kids and all

Fifty years done now
in this room so many miles
from those steps on Higgins Hollow

Our eyes meet
She crosses her arms
in a self-hug
I catch another smile
as she buttons up the jacket