28 • CENTRAL REVIEW • SPRING 2020
Dear ma,
( you don’t have to reply ) by Thomas Graham I know the house will be cold. I know you told me a thousand times how to work the thermostat. Set program. Select temp. Hold or something like that. Regardless, I delight in the cold now. It retells me of all the times you scolded me to make my bed. I never liked how icy the sheets got whenever my bed was made but, I always apologized anyway. Arriving at our outdated ranch house, I drift through the garage. I avoid eye contact with our fishing gear, Neglected by a retrograde movement of time, reflecting the broken promise I made to always be your baby moose. I’m sorry, I didn’t know it would be so hard to keep. Memories begin to rise like trout as I slip inside, I refuse to catch any because we always fished together. You taught me how to fish. I step over the illiterate welcome mat I made for your 48th birthday, nine years ago. You placed it without thought below the front door, right before the kitchen.
