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Almost too close. Moving up the coast she’s been through some forested places, ifilm over some mountainous states, she is getting nearer and for a minute I consider leaving, or better yet, moving. I eye a dormant suitcase. It opens its ifilm huge sleepy mouth and begs I throw cottons and polyesters inside. Don’t bother to wash them it says, I will hold them tight for you and dirt matters not to ifilm me. She is my mother. If you can believe such a thing. That I have a mother. Who uses payphones outside a grocery store in a funny state called Virginia. She says through static and rusty buggy wheels, that she is going in for Chinese takeout, inside this grocery store, though the last time she ate there she told me it felt like a chicken carcass hatched worms inside her belly. Her mood is up, it is a good mood, better than most moods, so I do not tell her, do not remind her of this food fact.
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