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‘Brenda’


I nether miss you nor do I wish were here. I don’t even think of you...often. You simply were...someone...ma...mom...mother...none of the above, Brenda.  

There were too many bitches and whores in our tiny apartment.  There was too much profane anger and sadness hard nailed to my innocence.

I can’t care that you’re gone.  Yet I care where you ended up.  If in Heaven, you’ve finally found peace from your tormenting witches.  If in hell, the life you had here lingers on.

I sometimes think of your orange juice cakes and your chitterlings. I remember your smile, your deep, drunk dimples and your soft curly hair and...I still remember things I don’t care to speak of.

The way you said my name, when you actually called me by my name...Trina.  The way you were when you hadn’t stopped at the liquor store.  The way you folded my panties so neat.  The way a mother must love her child, so sweet.

If you were still here, we would still be strangers and I would have to remember to say Happy Mothers Day.  The card would lie and express feelings I know nothing of and I would have done my duty as your child.

Perhaps if you had stayed longer I might have tried to get to know you  better...monster...pain...tears...grief...all of the above, Brenda.

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