Every Day is Mother’s Day Now That You’re Gone

The last time I saw you

was on your way out of this life

and I was wondering if you knew whether I was your daughter

this time

until you glanced at me with sudden clarity

that quickly turned to confusion about where I’d come from.

Through the tears, I smiled at the thought that after all my Trekkie years,

you assumed I’d mastered beaming myself to you.

Or maybe it was the way I was dressed

Harem pants, fitted ruffle top and the feather earrings

I still wear when I want to spend time with you.

For that moment, the glimmer in your eye was almost imperceptible

or maybe I saw it because I had to.

You were always good at poker face and hiding secrets in my hair.

Or maybe the moment was just mine.

We had epic contrasts I spent too much time trying to figure out

instead of worshipping your song while singing mine,

and savoring you plaiting my pigtails,

making spicy fried chicken with red beans and rice,

letting me figure my own things out,

changing the subject when things got too deep.

Never touchy-feely,

you quietly relished my wins long after I did.

That last day, I realized how everything was as it was supposed to be.

I was yours, you were mine and the gaps became butterflies.

Now your laughter litters my dreams

your face lives on in mine

your fingers knead comfort into my sensibilities

and I pause to take my shoes off before I walk around my childhood.

I do not want to crush anything that could erase me

Or you.