She Worried

about broken bones, hollow voices

on the phone from either side of the law,

his current girlfriend, no girlfriend, 

court cases, car accidents—if 

he was hungry, too cold, too hot, too lonely. 

She worried about rifts between him and his siblings, 

her dwindling secret money stash, 

when people asked about her youngest, 

lost wallets, suicide, her husband’s rifle 

thrust at him in the middle of an argument. 

She worried about the son she didn’t recognise, 

boasting of imminent fame, on the phone begging

for money—until she relented 

if only for a day’s peace. After he ended his life

she still waited for his call, 

driven to listen to the daily weather forecast—

Oh, I wonder if he’s cold. She’d 

have endured more and carried it to her grave,

even though years later—barely a word about him—

she died from a blitz heart attack on his birthday.