I’m under the weather
a mother
under cover
resting
and what I’m meaning
is that
there’s a Bohemian in the kitchen
in a bright
Aloha shirt
moving about
and pouring grape juice
(with ice)
for my son

I’m sleeping
mostly
except for this fine moment
with my one eye open
to spy
the soft flutter
of that tropical red print
in motion
by the refrigerator

11 years
he says
he’s had that shirt
long before Hawaii
“It’s been to the Hoover Dam!”

has its tour stopped here?
some permanent (working) vacation
now
in our island kitchen
gracing the sun-kissed shoulders
of the man who’s
closing windows from the rain
scooping tortilla chips
that I know
will be eaten in Jeb’s bed
while the two of them
talk Skylanders
and read books past bedtime

right now
I don’t care about crumbs

for the first time
in seven years
this mother’s resting in bed
and everything
seems quite
taken care of