c h i l d h o o d

Mother, do you miss me?
When you see a child, do you remember
My times at that age?
Or when you hear a small voice
Call out “mommy, mommy” in
Excitement, do you get excited
And curious as well?
Do you remember our hugs and
Bread sharing and
Juice box openings with frustrations
Over the little plastic straw
And crying
Because you wouldn’t let me play
Like all of the other kids
Do you miss me or do you like me better as an adult?

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d r i f t e r

At some point in my life
I realized you were no longer with me
Maybe I was blinded by the stars in my eyes
Chasing after dreams
And left you behind somewhere along the way
I frantically looked around
I wanted to hold you in my arms and never let go
But you had vanished
My world has been gray ever since
And I’ve lost the right to cry for you

m y m o t h e r

I was born in the summer, when all you can hear is the cacophony of children outside,

And the endless buzz of cicadas.

Summer, with its real-life watercolor of swollen white clouds

Against a light blue sky that look down at us from above,

And the pavement that radiates the sun’s energy into our feet as we sprint past.

My mother was sick, and my entrance into the world put her body into shock.

She loved me unconditionally, despite all of the pain that I put her through.

She had the power of being able to invigorate me.

Once in a blue moon, I stop and inhale the scent of roses when the thought of her crosses my mind.

She best-loved roses.