Mother, Come Home

She smiled at me, her kind and disconsolate smile. She smiled, she smiled. 

Her long strands of gold twisting down her chest, tears glossing over her face. 

It is too cold to be crying, mother, why are you crying? And where is your coat? 

The ice will surely give you frostbite. Her eyes followed me as I walked to the doorstep.

“You’re past your curfew, Ella. You know how Theodore feels when you do this.” She said.

Oh, mother. You need to be resting, please go put on a coat at least. Do not linger in the cold.

“Yes, mum. Let us go inside and we can talk about this. You’ll get sick if you wait much longer.”

She held a large, black urn in her arms as if it were a small child she must protect.

The tears seemed to have been plastered to her face, and she would not budge.

“Say sorry to Theodore, Ella. You have greatly distressed him and he is quite angry.” She whispered.

I stared at her face for a moment, she looked frail and her colour camouflaged with the snow.

“All right, I am gravely sorry, dad. Please forgive me, band practice went a bit over curfew--I was safe.”

She smiled at me once more, and in this moment I was a stranger. She opened the door and let me in.

“You may come in,” she said. “Please close the door behind you. Theo and I will make some tea.”

No warm greetings, she did not ask me about my day. All I could see was a line of powder on the coffee table, 

and alongside it was a pipe and small plastic baggie. My breath came sharp, my eyes stung greatly, and silently I wept.Mother, come home.