Tom Jeon

After swaying hands with my mom at the supermarket,
My arm becomes heavy
Like I’m holding a bucket.

I let go of my mom’s hand,
Drop my hand,
And my eyes follow my hand.

Now set upon square tiles,
I think of a game,
Next to the aisles.

A game where I avoid stepping on lines of the floor,
But still moving along,
Until I exit out the door.

Soon I realize I lost my mom,
So I quickly scuttle through the store,
Searching for my mom, but maintaining my calm.

I spot my mom’s bright red jacket,
All the way past the vegetable section.
But I don’t make a racket.


So I weave my way through the crowded land,
This time scuttling faster,
Determined to grab her hand.

I reach my mom, and look up, this time smiling,
Only to realize,
That it’s not my mom.