House

After my sister got married, my mother was sad and I pushed her out the door. She was wearing a thin robe, and it was cold. She banged and yelled, her hair flying. I laughed. What would she have done inside? Fingered the piano? Opened drawers as if they could speak? In time she grew quiet, as if she was released. Behind her was a hedge so tall it blocked the neighbor’s house. She could have walked away. Instead she stood on the puzzled patio, and we looked at each other through the glass door. I didn’t know where else to go, and I missed her.