My mother speaks about her garden.
My quiet sobs do not deter her,
My legs trembling in my bed sheets
As my hands pressed against my mouth
To keep from waking my dorm mate.
She continues to whisper of her newly sprouted
Tomatoes, her wish to have strawberries and
Greens by the time I came back home.
I cry and she talks through the phone at
Five in the morning until my fear abates and
My breaths wheeze with the tremors in my
Limbs and my eyes dry as the hard pain
In my head dulls and eases.
My breathing quiets and my mother
Pauses on the phone. She asks if I’m
Okay. I am. She asks if I feel better.
I do. She says she’ll call the neurologist
Later in the morning to tell them about
My relapse, that everything will be
Taken care of. She tells me to
Sleep and be at peace. I don’t doubt
I pull myself into a ball and close
My eyes, drifting off into dreams of small
tomatoes as she softly hums inside