how my whole life passed before my eyes waiting for the #10 line to downtown

the first morning we waited for the bus at the same time
her first words to me were
don't worry. i'm not crazy.
this morning
she stands in the middle of the sidewalk
working over a crossword puzzle that appears
from this distance
to be completely filled in
she wears a hair net--a nametag--
items that declare her station in life
slinging food or cleaning other people's messes
she is 55 years old
and every morning she tells me the same story about how soon she is going to move out of her sister's apartment
get a place of her own
and a job that doesn't require washing pots and pans
all day long
she is my mother
when i was young and we barely had enough food to eat
leaving for work in the mornings with her grey hair tucked under a net
and looking at least ten years older than necessary
during these days, i thought she never slept
that all mothers could do without
but mostly over the years i thought she was just plain crazy
until she married a man
still blue collar
he made enough money
to turn her hair back to a deep coffee flavored brown
and she could stop worrying about if we would make it
that's the way we turn ourselves into wives
that's the way we make sure we don't lose our minds
or the shirts on our backs
even when he turned out to be meaner than he seemed
even then he sounded like a better alternative to being a little scared poor girl
alone
and already bearing the marks of my own private violations
i found him
i was 18 years old
that insignificant creature who said he was going to college
promised to take care of me forever
and that was good enough
by example
the only love i knew how to name
at the time