summer

I was on the train last night.
She was sitting across the aisle, just a little ahead of me.
She was older, a little fragile. And she had arms that were just like my mum’s.
The train slowed and she stood.
Stay! [I wanted to say]. Stay. Just for a little while!
But she had to go.

I woke up this morning, sad. And I didn’t know why.
[sometimes stuff creeps up on you, doesn’t it?]

My mum used to live near the beach.
I would visit in summer and we would go and buy magazines
(Dirty Mags! she’d call them: Vogue for me, Women’s Weekly for her).
We would lie on the beach reading bits out to each other.
Talking about the year that was, the year to be.
By late afternoon we would be hungry.
Driving home for watermelon and iced-coffee:
windows open, hair salt-crunchy, singing to the radio.

Last night on the train, I wanted her back.
In an overwhelming, can’t-breathe kind of way.
I wanted to go to the beach and read magazines and shoot-the-breeze.
I wanted my mum, not just a lovely.old.lady with reminder.arms.

I know all the shoulds: life’s good and I should be happy.
It’s been a long time and I should be ok.

And you know what? I am happy and I am ok.
[but sometimes, I just miss what was].