In a Dream My Mother Knocks at the Door

In a Dream My Mother Knocks at the Door

which I have locked against her.
I leave my husband’s warm side
and let her in. She walks past me,

the mother of my adolescence, of
Sisterhood is Powerful
and Our Bodies Ourselves,

of this is my ex and yes, I built that house,
the mother of neighborhood watches
and chicken soup, the cool hip mother

my boyfriends liked, the black-haired,
dark-eyed mother with a German
accent. I wake convinced

that she has died. I’m afraid
to call her. All day I wait for news
of her death, which never comes.