Mother’s Day

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 Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day


Remember it: The way you stand. All eight years of you stacked on the rickety gray staircase  leading up to your bunk. How evening washes over ignorant deer outside the window while we, atop the mountain, are just above the rolling fog of distance.

Your cheeks are salty when you say to me again “but Mom!”  Your chest is clear, “All mothers love their children” how easily slides “so if 
I was never born, you would have just as much love,” Your brown eyes look  “for someone else.” So much like your father’s  eyes, weighed down with fatigued conviction.  

Remember it: my voice as I say “yes,” that makes you look up “and,”  hold my gaze while I add, “it could never be this.” Our embrace. My tears, a truth we both can see. 

Remember it—and like me— be completely undone

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