Walking in leather
Through the
Deafening silence
Of fast falling
Your footsteps
The only

Beneath the glare
Of a streetlamp,
You pause,
Lighting up,
The only warmth,
To exhale
Before moving

It's been a while,
Hasn't it?
Since you
About them;
The ones
You've left

Some have forsaken you-
Others hide deep
In your echoing heart,
Lingering, nearly forgotten
Until a scent or a color;
A snowflake's slow fall,
Reminds you
Of parts they once played.

All is forgiven-
Your mother
Walks at your right,
Frail hands in lace mittens
Tucked into your arm,
Joyce smiles on your left
A born Californian
Enjoying the snow.

Separated by time,
You escort them in silence,
Content to listen
As they confer over you.
There's hope for you yet,
Their bad wayward son,
And, oh, have you seen the
Price of shoes these days?

Nothing else matters
As you escort your
Two mothers;
Happy to let
These two ladies talk,
As the three of you
Leave behind
One set of prints.