My mother smells like vanilla
Every time I pass her through the house I catch a whiff
My Mother’s perfume used to be a comforting smell
It would always remind me of ice cream and swaddled new born babies
My mother is a nurse, so she knows how to take care of people
But not how to protect people
Or believe
Imagine
My mother used to be an artist
Aged canvass
The smell of paint in the air
The third generation of women
On her mothers side
She used to have fun
She used to love me
And care if I was sick
If someone had hurt me
When my father died
She told me she was now my mother and my father
But she was never around
My mother said she had a dream
That my sister and I were babies again
And she had one of us on each arm
At least I know she still thinks of us
Even if it’s to only wish we were still dependent on her
She didn’t protect me
She didn’t believe me
Sometimes I think she doesn’t even love me