at my house

at my house we
don’t talk about Mom
and no one knows why

my brothers wonder
if Dad’s afraid
or hurt or ashamed to admit that
he hopes she’ll come back
but it’s getting harder now to
remember her

except
sometimes
when i’m almost asleep
i think i can hear her
singing

a wistful song
that makes me smile

until morning when i forget the words
and why we pretend
she’s not
here