When you left
I waded through something flu-like
with reverse magical symptoms
Sluggish, fevered, untethered
smoke circling some clogged drain
with unidentifiable rough bits.
The enchantment came later,
eating cheerios and peaches for dinner in the
recliner that replaced your bed.
You weren’t a state of mind, but a door
with textured paths that spidered away, back and beyond
and returned me to myself.
Still when I hear “Mom” anywhere,
in that syrupy voice of a toddler
or prickly tween,
or anywhere along the human spectrum
I am not needed, but I turn anyway and remember you there
and then tuck the moments back onto my heart’s memory foam.
Now, I am trying to figure out how to mother myself
finding sanctuary in my own eyes
throwing roses and kindness at myself for no reason.
Just that I am here
and you are there
both of us all grown up now.