Song To My Mother

If you had the years back
that you whispered about
across the faux granite kitchen table cleaned,
crosswords and papers and notes,
packets of artificial sweeteners,
phone pamphlets and applications,
half eaten toast and tea cups gone cold,
unfinished math problems and pencils,
the loose change unorganized and all
face up, broken earring and tabloids,
and oh so much mail to sort
would you break into the same pieces
the same repurposed tupperware
for your parts
waiting
for someone to reassemble you?