Pencil meets paper

this action has been repeated countless times. 

But it’s that pause

right as they touch

when the entire world sighs, knowing, waiting

for the explosion to being.

And here it comes...

Yes, it’s the breeze mother. 

That summer breeze tickling my ears, whispering a language we are not meant to 

decipher 

It eggs me on...my eyes close. 

Mother, this time, when I think of you 

my words paint...

Chestnut hair that you tuck behind your ear absentmindedly

just like me. 

Laughter pouring from your entire being

leaving tiny rivers of wrinkles around your eyes

just like me. 

Today

your fingernails are nonexistent

from nervous snacking.

You hate the cold.

Your current fashion is ever changing

now, grey the new black instead of just grey.

However, blue is always and forever

your favorite color

just like me. 

When you come to mind

questions claw at my insides.

Birthmother, each summer

when I have too much time to think

and the wind whispers,

you become my clay.

I mull you over and over.

Shaping crafting, as if I know you...

Will I ever know you?

“Kate come inside and help me with this!”

The wind comes to a standstill. 

“Coming mom!”