Counting the ways

It had been a bad week and I return home on the conveyer belt for lost and found suitcases.
My mother pries me open and takes stock: 2 pairs of socks, a suit in dry-cleaning wrapper,
All ten toes and an intact glowing soul. All ten toes – she unsticks each one like dumpling
Skin, separately accounting and confirming. Did I still have the spare set of smiles packed
Just like she taught? Did I make sure not to lose spirit the way I’ve carelessly lost my
Handkerchiefs as a child? She takes stock of this overgrown child, tender and ungenerous
In case I need to return what I’ve loaned from her.

Then she packs everything back, restocks fresh undergarments, kisses every corner with a
Sticker – fragile, handle with care – and sends me off again. It’s time for the next journey.
She double checks the percentage of the portable charger, the brightness of the soul inside,
And for good measure a goodbye hug – the more compact the luggage the better.

Be well.