Sometimes I go weeks without thinking of my mother
She is lost to the healing and distance and peace
But like everything there is an opposite
And there are days where I can’t stop seeing, hearing, fearing
I see her when my hair gets long
I hear her when I pick up objects
“Broom, milk, paper”
I feel her when I run my fingers over the texture of my face
Sometimes my partner wakes me up at night
And tells me I’ve been crying and fighting
She visits me in my dreams
But I’m small again
And she’s big again
I can’t escape her because I haven’t grown yet
I haven’t learned yet
I don’t have the strength yet
All the things I will learn years ahead
Can’t help me while she holds my head underwater
So I inhale my tears
And push against my pillows
And wake up crying out for a mother