Driving down that stretch of road

Where my bus used to carry me

Full backpack, heavy lunchbox,

Just past those big beautiful houses

That even as a child gave me longing sighs,

I look for places that no longer exist

Like the consignment shop

Where Mom and I would go

To pick up cardigans and turtlenecks

Unfolding jeans laid on hand me down shelves

Holding them up in the mirror before

Adding them to the pile of what we could afford.

As I pass through that stretch of shops—

Some of which have not changed—

I wonder, when I went clothes shopping as a child

What was Mom thinking

When she pulled her car up in that little gravel lot

Just a short walk to those gorgeous houses behind my school

As she held up outfits and asked with urgency

“Are you going to wear this?”

A question full of worries she never shared with me.