She was always the tough one,
always awake on long drives,
always endured injury quietly.

Now she moves gingerly,
a cane in the house, 
a walker in the trunk.

There are weekly updates
on medicine & therapy,
on diet & sleep.

Sunday afternoon she watched
me & my son playing football 
in the street,

my boy a flash
of sweat & purpose. 
Pure boy. 

"You're lucky to have a dad who plays."

He nodded, uncomfortable
with emotions that he feels 
needn't be spoken.

She plucked a dead magnolia leaf
from the sidewalk, pivoting
back into the house.