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
6 Replies to “Very much alive”
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.
Beautifully penned— Slices the heart and soul with those last four lines
This is so true, it hurts more when they are there but not 💜
Makes my heart break….
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