One day, we’ll part ways,
join the fray,
shout hurray!
and say
we made it.
Okay.
We made it.

It used to be you and me
and the wee ones in one car
together,
in one car.

Now we’re in two
me and you
and what more can I do but
watch you in the rearview?
Me in mine
and you in yours,
following behind,
but I don’t mind
because it’s the kind of thing
you can only find
in a mother
who loves you enough to tough it out
while you rough it out
on your own path that’s—
let’s face it—
half-connected to her path
‘cause no matter where you drive,
your paths criss and cross
when missing becomes unbearable
and kissing reminds you that
you haven’t
kissed your mother in
forever
and ever
and ever.

And before I know it, mom,
we’ll face it.
Space.
The space measured in states
and rates of tickets,
the space measured in time between visits.
I admit it.
I’m going away.
But that’s okay because I will
always
find a way back to you.