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
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