The kind you’re born with, the kind you choose, the kind that teach Catholic school
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My mother sits in the dark quiet,
The house asleep around her
Cold coffee in her cup.
I surprised her once.
Coming home from a noisy evening
I flicked on the light.
She was sitting at the kitchen table
Wrapped in her fuzzy robe.
I shut the light and went to bed.
We never spoke of it.
Now years away from my mother’s house
I sit in the dark, quiet,
The house asleep around me
Staring at the moon.