Day 1: Walking down SoCo to see the bats fly out
from under the bridge (which you can’t actually see
because they’re black against dark water, but still),
we accidentally walk right into a sweet couple’s
engagement photo shoot. We apologize.
The photographer smiles, puts his hand on his chest,
“You are just fine. OMG, I have all your albums. Aahh-mazing.”
Mom turns to me, perplexed, but I am laughing
too hard to breathe or explain
what I understand that Mom does not:
He thinks she is Carole King.

Day 2: The Continental Club, watching live music,
Mom has earplugs in because everything’s loud.
She leans in and says, “What are they singing?”
I say, “Tennessee Whiskey, like the Chris Stapleton song.”
“Ohhh… I was thinking it was Tennessee Landscape.
That makes more sense. Who’s Chris Stapleton- is he playing tonight?”

Day 3: The Broken Spoke
We go early for a group dance lesson
so we can, you know, fit in with the regulars.
The teacher is an aging line dance Barbie,
this is her domain, she leads the class
with the same attitude I imagine Celine Dion
might deejay karaoke at your local bar.
We are lost, but because Mom doesn’t care,
I don’t care either. She makes three new friends
before we leave for our Air B’n’b. It would not surprise me
if they all still email to this day, six years later.

Day 4: Shopping at local thrift stores
I am stuck in a vintage boot. You read that correctly. Stuck.
It is patent leather and I am sweaty because it’s Texas
and even at times when I am thin, I am still out of shape.
I reach the point of asking a stranger for help,
she enlists another lady, who gets a salesgirl,
three of them are trying to yank this off my damned leg,
there is talk of cutting it off (the boot, not the leg),
I am giggling and snorting but also
panic screaming cuz toe cramps, and finally say,
“Can someone find my mom? She looks like Carole King in a ballcap!”
She comes. Waits to laugh until after the emergency.
Gives me deep calming eye contact. Yanks and twists. I am free.