the time has passed
but vivid you stand here
three years gone
teeth eroded, some lost
in the alleys of los angeles

grandma said you called
from the hospital on mothers day
drunken mumbles about another guy
breaking your arm
you still don’t know I’m moving away
in august

i remember being introduced
to everyone as your daughter
you had lost rachael
and i needed a mother

you hid beer cans
in brown paper bags
the ones you used to pack my lunches
but it was better than mom, i knew
so i stopped counting on my fingers
the days left for her to come home

in your white mustang you waited
outside st. pauls for the bell to ring
out from under stained glass i ran
holding tight to those books of hope

and then you were gone
for years now my hands have held nothing
but paper heavy with question
but i’m leaving in august
and he just broke your arm