On break,
short shift,
I call you, mom.
Dial tone drones
while tears well up.
I realize
I miss you.
Miss your voice.
Miss your waddle.
Miss your criticisms
and the way you look sideways
when I tell you I ate some mushrooms.

I hope you’re healthy.
I’m sorry
I can’t visit
and I don’t call or text
often enough.
I miss you.
I never cried over your contact
until today.