I curled myself in with the grief
And your white sweatshirt after
It came in the mail.
The collar still smelled like your sweet
Perfume, your bathroom counter lined with bottles
Of all the fragrances I had gifted at Christmas.
I remember a time when you used to read,
Your mind wasn't a static thing then.

Took me a while to realize what I knew
About you, and your system
Of pulleys and strings, the beautiful
Mechanics, were a mystery to me.
I had filled in the holes with the words
Of others, their vision of you.
I was wrong about so many things.
I was wrong about the depth of the grieving process.

I imagined you as a long-necked teen,
Clad in a bikini and pooka shells.
But you were a frail dying person,
And yet my arms buckled under the weight.

08/11/2016

Author's Note: my mom

Posted on 08/26/2017
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