Mom   I was sittin' with mom in her kitchen just the other night, to visit some. She pushed a bowl of peaches cross the counter "Been a couple days, I'm glad you've come."   Her fish tank purred, and I saw she was older been six years since dad passed away. Then she laughed about some comment that I made and I thought about her folks, and Kansas hay. She'd learned to drive, back when she was a kid inside a truck her dad drove, hauling lime. I'm pretty sure gramps taught her to laugh and to cowboy tough it, through depression time.   Then we talked some more and ate pieces of pie and she said, "A light's burnt out in back." A note taped on the wall reminds her of a pill as we look through some old pictures from a stack.   Then I hug her and tell her she's alright glad this Kansas girl is my mom she winks and says, "Don't forget about the light."

©Steve Dirksen