Mother's Week: Letting Go and Outside, Poems

Outside
By Stacy Barton

I sit in the light of two fluorescent bulbs –
one flickering above the workbench,
the other swinging over the washer and dryer –
and wonder over my nest, soon bare.

Here in the garage,
with only the leftover laundry to stir my memory,
I find fewer cues to catapult my heart.