my mother
does not love me in poems
in songs
(the way i know how)
but she loved me in phone calls
and breakfast
and new clothes in december
she loves me in doctor's appointments
and orange juice
and prayer
(the way she knows how)
and i will love you like this too
i will love you like my mother
and i will love you like me
i will love you in poetry
in words
in forehead kisses and long hugs
i will braid the words 'you are loved' in your hair
and i will kindle the fires inside you
i will wish upon the stars in your soul
i will love you in dreams
i will love you in ways i cannot tell
but i will love you

they buried your bones,
but not what was inside them.
they buried your bones,
but they didn't
they couldn't
bury your light, your love,
the story you told while breath was still yours
they didn't
they couldn't bury your laughter,
your song,
the memories the ones who loved you keep.
they buried your bones
but they didn't
they couldn't bury you,
for you are not there,
in those underground houses of dirt.
you are in the hearts of those who loved you,
in the faces of your children,
in your grandchildren's eyes.
you are in the words you said,
the places your feet touched.
you are everywhere
everywhere
everywhere

it’s so hard
to walk the talk
when you are
as selfless as a candle
-burning yourself
just to give light
to others

in the event of an emergency,
return my eyes to the sky.
my hair to africa.
my skin to the rain.
give my smile to my mother,
she always loved it best.
give my mouth to my father,
my voice as well. make sure it is loud.

return my poetry to my English teachers,
give my words to my brother.
tell him there was so much i wanted to tell him,
give him both my ears, tell him i will always listen.

give my hands to my heart.
my heart will be tucked in my journals,
give them to the boy who loves me.
mail my songs to Maine,
with the letters you will find inside the shoeboxes.
give my feet to New York City,
my laughter to my students.

return my coffee mugs to my grandmother,
my tongue to her cooking.
give my books to my friends,
and both of my shoulders.

if there is anything left,
give it to the earth.
let the birds make of my bones a home,
let the spring find room to bloom.
give my lungs the air they were waiting for.