when you trickled, the past pulled from my eyes,
hung like (f)lashes from my eyelidsāstill
growing with my face, still
oscillating old images
of mamaās smile, sunken
in dimples, deep as her love for me
as a promising oasisāhow
sheād ooze her only moisture
to quench my thirst,
of my little legs leaping
up the stairs, after weeks separated from home,
hoping to find mother, healed,
grabbing me into a hearty hug,
but rather finding
dad, direly drained by grief,
a grand gathering of greasy eyes,
silence, sobbing, and the sweaty sequel of
iām sorry, weā
it was the day of her funeral,
& i was a five-year-old, already wondering
what it means to be a child without
a mother, what it means
to live to die
i let you drip into her grave, wishing
i could go along with you,
with her
but look, iām rather
going along her prudent path,
stretching it to all the painful, all the pleasant
places,
striving to complete it
& though itās tough
to walk this wicked world,
iāll pass the peak,
wearing motherās wounds
as wings.
