This time of the year always reminds me of my mother

More specifically, of her dying slowly and painfully

In a way that no one deserves to go (least of all her)

This time of the year reminds me of how much I miss her

 

I am trying to remember the good times, the miracle she was

But everything I’ve come up is as frayed and distressed as the

Bottoms of the then fashionable jeans we had that she so hated

All I can remember reminds me of how much I miss her

 

Her smile—shy and quivering, like it was expecting to be scared off

Her long-slender-bony fingers—and how they felt on my forehead

Her voice—more specifically, her voice calling out my name

Oh and it hurts how much I miss her

 

Some days I fool myself with a fantastic mirage of her

Imagine walking into the kitchen to find her standing  

With her tall back to me, her long neck bent over some chore

I wish I could wrap my arms around her, tell her how much I miss her

 

I wonder whether those whose lives she touched ever think of her

Her way of taking on everyone’s aches and pains, absorbing all

And making it her own, of comforting those with no hope of comfort

But whether the world cares or not; I do and I miss her

 

My eyes miss watching her move around the house

My body misses those long ‘it’ll-be-okay’ embraces

My mind misses the belongingness it found in her

Every day, every day, every day, every day, every day

I miss her