My days are filled with tidbits of you.
Things I normally scorn have become sacred relics:
Brummel & Brown spread across my morning host
my face anointed with Ponds cold cream
blue fig body wash to cleanse away my sins
and my regrets.
I lift the white plastic lid from the perfume bottle
and breathe in the scent of bergamot, white jasmine, rose and lily of the valley
incense that brings you immediately to life.
Now I am watched over by the cement gargoyle
you dragged across the country in
that last move.
He resides now in my back garden
his head resting in clawed hands,
wings drooping from the bitter Midwest cold
or perhaps weariness from his task as guardian
and witness to the relentless unfolding of life?
We both seem to be stuck in this moment:
How do we go on? What do we keep? What do we release?
Packing up your apartment I had hope to find
a message secreted away
a clue to who you are,
how you felt,
words to comfort me in this, my time of need.
But always the mother,
you artfully slip out of spotlight ...
All I find are
my letters, notes and mother’s day cards
bundled together with the same red yarn ribbon
tied upon every suitcase handle our family owned.
My prayer is that you
carry my words with you,
wrapping them about your soul
to warm and feed you on your journey.
You are the best mother ~
Thank you for being my best friend ~
I love you ~
I miss you ~
I can’t wait to see you ~