My mother haunts me from the periphery of each day

though thankfully she is far from dead

in fact, luminescent and bright like an opal ring

inhabiting living more than I have ever mastered

her premature ghost has inched around my life

like frosting on a stale cake

a ghost I created out of need and longing

losing before you have lost

missing before you have the words

my mother who is distance and fog

perhaps why, when I squint now

I don’t see far, never far enough

she has always been just out of reach

and I, always aching, for her regard

sometimes it is not trauma or car wrecks

causing us to hemorrhage

but the standing absence of people who are

very much alive

5 Replies to “Very much alive”

  1. In how many forms does it come
    The price of learning early
    To be needful is not welcome?
    That a bond meant fundamental
    Can be, at best, fragile,
    Or conditional on convenience?
    That a standard is set an adult may meet
    But a child cannot even awkwardly pretend?
    A soil is formed that can sprout many kinds of ghosts.

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