• Poetry

    Catch by Allison Cobb

    What moment was

    the moment 

    my mom died. 

    We weren’t sure

    my dad and I—

    we hold that

    hard gift close

    between—the

    us that makes 

    us selves who

    stood beside 

    her birdlike

    curled in—

    Oh. It is 

    a moment—breath

    and then

    it stops—that’s

    real, declare

    the time—we had

    a clock there, red

    with numbers—

    Mom.