© 2016 Sandra Jean-Pierre

Ghislaine.

I am forgetting what your
laughter sounds like,

your avatar,
in my memories:
head thrown back, eyes closed in
joy, mouth wide in mirth-

is silent
faded
I am no longer
able to re-produce You fully.

What I remember?

the sensation
of your laughter
rattling every wall in the house,

coaxing me from
my room
to find out,

“What’s so funny?”

I miss You.

Your birthday
is coming,

sandwiched between
Mother’s Day
and
Your passing

I’ve gotten no break
from the rising
tide of emotions.

Still,

admonishing myself
for this grieving
that never wants
to end,

I’m tired

some years
better than
the next,

the
malaise
of this prickly
transformation
from
M(m)e
to
Motherless Daughter

making me
a further
wreck

I’m losing,

my will to keep making sense
of Your loss
because your decisions
of the past
keep affecting
my future.

And
it’s complicated,

this Mother/(D)daughter
relationship,

even now

with me
filling the shoes
you
never cared
to have worn,

with me
waiting around
for your
gentle insistence
that
I Can

with Your
unheeded warnings
swirling in my thoughts

I remain
inconsolable,

needing to
lay my head
on the belly-that-used-to-be-my-
home,
my unable-to-extend-arms
wrapping around
the outside of your
thighs

(my hugs to you)

wishing to
crawl into your love
with all my broken pieces,

knowing
that as my Creator
you’d make
Me whole again…

I belonged
to You

no matter
Who
or What
happened to me,

I knew,

You would package my sins,
like delicate crystals in your hands
and make them pure again.

I need that
Mother Magic

that
Make It Better

that
You Are Mine

that
This Is Your Home…

I miss you.

 

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