They call, and sometimes they don’t leave a message.
Or they call and say, "I’m at the hospital."
Or they come in the door and say "I have two concerts tonight,"
or call down the stairs, "I have 9 tank tops and no shirts to wear them with,"
or "Where are my black pants?"
It’s been one of those days.
One boy has a fracture.
The other boy just needs a break.
And the girl needs time to grow up.
Or possibly shirts.
The mother needs to see the ones who are far away,
to touch them and show the love she can only speak through the air.
The mother needs to remember that being 12 is hard work,
to stand at the back of the auditorium where she can see the percussionists.
Because it’s all about the percussion,
the rhythms of their familiar voices,
the way they rise and sink,
the way they call.