pine tree corners

At home I lie on the lawn and chat to my mother, who sits in a rocking chair and smokes. I gossip. She listens to my problems, to one problem in particular, and repeats it back to me with a lucidity startling in its razor-sharpness. I have tried to explain this problem to no fewer than six people at this point, is the thing you have to understand here, and she is the only one who has been able to do that. Not to solve it. Just to say it back. I have forgotten that this is the miracle of her.

Yes, I say, and smile, pulling at damp blades of grass.

 

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