Sometimes I see her
as an apparition before me,
finger wagging
smiling that smile;
walking across the broken tile
in the kitchen we no longer use

Sometimes I can sense her
in the leaves outside
rustling with pride
at the funny ways
my kids make dad laugh;
and I miss her

Sometimes I hear her;
a whisper in my ear
reminding me to be softer,
to have patience, smile more
asking me to read her my poems
and to breathe a little space

And sometimes I can feel her
holding my hand
soft like wet sand,
warm and inviting
and I wish I could just
close my eyes and hold her

Sometimes ...

© Priya Patel 9/18/2015