I have never known mother.
Only her pitiful replacement
Who I am forced to live with
Because of father’s attempt to compensate.

She promised to be a parent
the same day she promised
to have and to hold
while slipping the
shiny gray ring
over her bare, ring finger.

I saw that same gray
spread across the sky
the same day that
sinister step-mother of mine got rid of
my beloved dog,
my only savior,
in that hellish house.

Father sat next to her
as she explained how my spot
as her last priority
was revoked.
I no longer mattered,
was no longer important enough
to hold a spot on that list.

The next day she told me,
“I am not your mother.”
And when I looked at father,
his face was masked with the
thick, gray smoke
emanating from her cigarette.

I stared blankly at the cemented tombstone embedded with mother’s name.
Cold, hard and gray.
Like the replacement’s eyes,
or her heart,
or her soul,
but mostly the ring still snug on her ring finger.

The cold was as bitter as my hatred for that shiny gray ring,
now dulled but still prominent,
like clouded steel that weighed all of my hopes of having a family.

The frozen wind whipped my skin until it stung,
but I remained planted next to her grave.
The stinging surged across my body
Until it made its way into my core.
Then the stinging swept up into my face
and materialized behind the corners of my eyes.

When I finally went home,
Gray residue stained my cheeks,
remnants of the clear saltwater,
that turned black when it met my makeup
as it fell hot from the edges of my eyes.

I have never known mother,
but I have always known
her pitiful replacement
would never love me like she would have,
nor I would never love her like
I love mother.