Dance Section
Three hours pass and the bookstore aisles
wait with me. The books take turns holding
my hand while I kill time. Waiting for the court
to call, to tell me my mother’s death is certified.
The red section flags wave sideways like street signs
and I pull my twenty-sixth book off the narrow shelf.
The silhouette of a ballerina spreads across the cover
like the vegetable tray at my mother’s funeral.
The hands wing away from her body
as if in any moment her toe will let the ground go.
My toes curl into the weight of my shoes.
We used to count geese V-ing through the sky
and wonder where they were going. I wonder
where you have gone.