Marvel

i find her in my demeanor the way i hold myself and the way i hold others i hear her voice in my intonations and inflections i carry her baggage her wishful thinking and her critical sarcasm and as my bones stiffen with age i am certain i possess her dna she left me pictures and dishes and jewelry and notes and things i can neither pack nor give away phone conversations and birthday cards that won't be had or sent and in a moment i am both angry and sad that she won't be here for the celebrations and the disappointments but i know she listens i know she hears me curse and cry and scream joyously and i am hopeful that one day i will be intuitive enough to hear what her reply is and be able to settle into believing in my gut and knowing for sure what she would have done she was my best friend she was my mother