There was a woman I didn't recognize,
the same color as the walls,
stacked like a house of sticks frail enough to knock over with a touch,
waiting for her daughter.
And I,
looking for my mother
popped my head into each room desperately.
In the room I passed
this woman I didn't recognize was
until my cousin said,
"That's her!"
I'm here mama. I tell her I love her, kiss her short haired head, and hold her hands.
I try to focus on her smile and not the tubes.
I come home guilty because
for just a brief second
she was a woman I thought I didn't know,
until she was my mother again.
YOU ARE READING
A votive that has un-mothered
PoetryA collection of grief poems from losing my mother to cancer. I may or may not keep this up here. I doubt there's any audience for this kind of thing on this site. Trigger warning. Lots of raw imagery in these poems. You can follow Rachel's work on...
