As if there is nothing more important to do,
Mom and I play cards. For hours, we shuffle
and deal and keep score. We scowl. We gloat.
We shuffle and deal again. A portrait of my great
great grandmother looks down at us. She is
a round-faced German woman with thin oval
spectacles. Her eyes somehow smile, though
her lips do not. I want to invite her to join us,
this woman who raised on her own a daughter,
this woman whose choices equal the reason
my mother and I are here at all in a small room
in northwestern Georgia playing cards and laughing
and letting the game do its work, which is play,
which is an essential way two people become closer
despite distance, despite difference, which is,
of course, the most important work of all.
In a hundred fifty years, I hope there’s a photo
of my mother and me in some other room
where my great great grandchild is playing
cards with her mother. I hope the look on my face
says, bless you, family, for playing together.
There is nothing right now more important to do.