If I can not be held in her arms, or weep into the cradle of her neck
and smell the sweet sweat, smoke and cover girl scent
Nor lie in her lap and listen to her choppy lullaby
then I wish I could watch a movie of her life
little clips of happy moments, parties and graduations
I'd like to unroll reel that slowly panned her smile
where her laugh could curl through my heart
and chase this loneliness away.
I wish I could read her journal, and meet her all over again
I want to hear her secrets, the ones she would have told
when I was of age to understand
I want read a letter to me, explaining her love for me
so I feel that wholeness of a parents love once again.
I want to read her script and remember the shape of her hands.
I wish someone would talk about her to me.
I want to hear the stories about my mother
that fate never allowed her to say to me.
I want to know that someone else feels this sorrow
that her impact on the world was not just her love in me
that some one else understands and feels this horror too.
I miss my Mom, but alas, there is no one left to speak.