Portmantle

My mother put motion sensor lights in the hallway

So I don’t have to run from the kitchen to my bedroom in the dark

She stuck them to the wall with magnets so they stay

There are no outlets nearby, but they hold a charge

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The charge lasts for about 96 hours on a good week

But the light itself never even dims

Because my mother has perfected her technique

In keeping track and fixing every little thing

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She resets the clock on the microwave every time the power comes back on

And calls the cable and internet company when the wifi doesn’t connect

She clears out her email inbox daily, and never waits too long to respond

She spends more time on hobbies than she’s ever consecutively slept

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I hear her listening to the daily mass as she paints with her acrylics

And humming to herself while she waters fuchsia flowers

She paints her nails with designs while she drives, and I’ve never seen them chip

And no matter what life has thrown at her, I’ve never seen her cower

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With my own two eyes, I’ve seen her coax life from the brink of death

In the form of dying orchids with infected yellow leaves and fungus-rotting roots

In a few months, the leaves are green, the flowers bloom, and the stems have grown new lengths

Healed by my mother’s secret recipe of fungus-killing juice

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She finds time to get groceries on her way home from work

And she always takes my sister’s car for her to the mechanic

She remembers to marinate the meat a day before a barbecue in the park

And she takes my grandmother to appointments when she’s sick

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She keeps in daily contact with our family overseas

And remembers the names and life stories of her aunts thrice removed and second cousins

And whenever we have dinner, she keeps them on the line and tells them they should also eat

I watch Netflix on my phone, because I get too lost in their discussions

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I know I said before that the hallway lights have never dimmed, but I lied

My mother went on a trip for three weeks and I was alone in the house

And not once did I charge the lights that died

And the blue-tiled kitchen faded into brown

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I lost track of the tiny things I never knew I had to worry about

I’d forget to get the mail and pick up eggs when I went to the store

I watered the succulents, but the orchids struggled to grow new sprouts

I check my car tire pressure, but forget to lock the kitchen-garage door

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I’ve always been independent, and able do the things that absolutely needed to be done

I function just enough so nothing dies, and in the grand scheme of things, I stay fine

But there’s something to be said about how my mother thinks of the necessities and beyond

And the little luxuries of the lights