One twenty-eight.
Still catch myself
looking up at the clock.
Doesn't happen every day.
Just enough…
to make me stop.
Used to call Mom
most every day.
Usually
right around one twenty-eight.
"How's your day?"
Talk about family.
Long-lost friends.
Who stopped by.
Who was finally feeling better.
Funny…
how we'd always seem
to find each other
about that time.
One twenty-eight.
"Call Mom."
No phone call
for this one.
We sat
in the doctor's office.
He said
what he came to say.
She listened.
Nodded.
Reached over…
"You okay?"
Never asked
about herself.
Not that day.
Not once after.
One twenty-eight.
We still had time.
Half a world away
when she called my phone.
Told us
not to rush.
Told us…
don't you dare
come home
feeling bad.
Said she wasn't going to wait
'til we got home.
…
I don't remember
what I said.
…
She still sounded
like she always did.
One twenty-eight.
She was still here.
My brother's name
lit up my phone.
I knew…
before I answered.
…
I just stood there.
…
The tide kept rolling in.
People kept laughing.
Somewhere down the beach
a radio was playing.
Funny…
how the whole world
keeps right on going.
One twenty-eight.
January twenty-eighth.
I still know
exactly where I stood.
…
One twenty-eight.
January twenty-eighth.
The tide kept rolling in…
anyway.
Been going through
her things.
Slow.
Found a dime…
right where
I know
I already looked.
Heads up.
…
Every time.
…
Still reach
for the phone.
Something
she'd have laughed at.
Something
I wanted her to hear.
Hold it
a second…
Set it back down.
One twenty-eight.
Used to be
a time of day.
Then…
a date.
Now…
…
One twenty-eight.
Still catch myself
looking up
at the clock.
Every now and then…
just enough…
to make me stop.