Pips

My mother’s forgotten her lines
only words
intermittent as spitten pips
leave her

It is another sign
of leave-taking
her eyes
give nothing away
and fail to set
the sentence straight

I know
If I held her hand
I might squeeze
a ghost, the name of the day
into the air

But on the thinness
of her skin
hangs my excuse
to let the silence fall