I drive ( the poem of a mother)

I drive because she has a passion, a need, a want.

I drive because we are out of bread.

I drive because he is working late.
I drive because he is working early.
I drive because he worked long and it doesn't seem fair to ask him to go out again.

I drive because there is no one else who can; no one coming or going our way.

I drive to the pounding of loud music.
I drive to the plots of stories I will never hear finished.

I drive to smiles I don't see, to jokes I'm not invited to share, and parties I am not going to.

I drive in silence beside her with her face in her phone.
I drive to her tears.
I drive to her expectations, her hopes, and her plans.

I drive swimming in words to say to her, but they are never the right ones.

I drive on Mondays in thick afternoon traffic because she has Gym.
I drive the same way on Tuesdays even though it is my "day off" because she has Gym.
I drive on Wednesdays between semi trucks because she has Gym.
I drive on Thursdays against the flow of the big yellow school buses because she has Gym.
I drive on Fridays the too familiar stretch of road even it is my other "day off" because she has Gym.

I drive on Saturday mornings in the stinging dark because even then she has Gym.

I drive back because she forgot something.  
I drive over just to make sure she is okay.

On weekends I shake things up and drive in big swooping loops around the valley and back.

I drive because she is 15 and her whole world is waiting for her... at the mall.

I drive up.
I drive back.
I drive in.
I drive out.
I drive off.
I drive on.