She pulls blue velvet up over her shoulders,
holds my hand in hers, delicately as she did
when she once taught me to ride a bike,
she pushes me awake. Murmurs
something about missing my plane
and urges me to slip into the jeans
she had folded neatly.
She navigates the road with a
certainty I admire, glancing
at my teenage skin and nodding
as she registers me a man.
I pull my bags from the trunk,
she hands me my new coat and says
something about East Coast weather.
She smooths my shirt as we exchange a final remark;
she reminds me of the frailty of her fingers,
she smiles with a sadness only a mother could possess.
She waves as I walk,
with the hands that will forever hold
the balance of my childhood.
By Niko Malouf
As a teenager living in Los Angeles, Niko enjoys writing about the things that surround him, stimulate him, the events of his adolescence as well as the happenings of the world. He hopes to share his experiences and perspective with others and inspire them to do the same.