The moon hushed me tosleep last night
and the rustling wind sang me a song.
Just likemy mom used to do
when I still felt okay calling herMommy.
Covered her in kisses.
Covered her in hugs.
When I stilllet her do my hair
and tie my shoelaces in a double knot.
When Ineeded her to hold my hand as I crossed the street.
When I didn'tnotice the roughness of her elbows and heels.
When I didn't know shecouldn't sing,
her voice cracking and off-key.
Being warm remindsme of her,
cold Cream of Wheat
and the Poky Little Puppy;
paleblue ribbons and matching clothes,
shoes with bows,
colorfulearrings and the smell of cachet,
lipstick the color ofcoral.
Plastic turtles and shattered crystal dreams,
reflectinglight on the walls to remind her
of what it is she could'vehad.
Needed to keep her grounded.
Maybe if she hadn't tried sohard
to make up for the mistakes her parents made.
Maybe if shehad just been
the amazing creature she is.
Maybe then I wouldn't