Mom in the Station

by Melanie MacKillop

A chord stretches
from my heart to my mother. 
I know it while my bus backs away
and I can still see her in the station, waving.

The chord is breaking so I cry a little.
I sit next to a stranger and I grasp for it,
to not forget it’s there.

My heart reaches like an arm to her.

This love needs a new form,
because the chord is never strong enough for busses.

I will not go anywhere until I see
that my mother will always exist over me,
more like a sun,

or like the heart of anyone
who waits in the window,
like the light waits—
warmth streaming for me.