This Fever Reminds Me Of Mother

When I was a kid mother made
The jump to Virginia and my
Dad kissed a lady in the desert
Shop across from the train
Station. The train station
Wasn't there then and neither
Were my brothers illnesses.
I remember moms first visit,
The crippling sound of her
Ford Bronco pulling in grammaws
Driveway, the stale smell of
Her leather jacket, and the
Wet grass along my tiny feet
As I ran into the barn to
Escape her face. She brought
Me legos, miniature legos
Prefabricated to form a
Submarine. My fever ran
Hot that morning. I found
The cure inside a bag of
Pixie sticks and a stuffed
Eeyore she left in the living
Room on the orange shag
Carpet. Her mistakes are the
Only thing in this world
I am too scared, too tired,
And too hurt to write about.