My Mother is upset with me
I’ve not captured her in verse
I’ve written about my stepfather who she loves
And my grandmother who lost the man she loves
I’ve written about the boy who held my heart and shook and shattered it
And the girl who fixed my heart and showed me how it works
I’ve never written about my mother because there are no words
To describe the women who crafted me
Unintentionally moulding me in her vision
Who showed me how to look at the world
Who allowed me to question
Who gifted me everything I am
I write about my Mother in every single verse
Because she is in everything I see and say and do
And even when I forget to phone
And forget to say the words
You are with me
Because you taught me
How to look at the world
I remember very little of one of the hardest days of my life. But I remember you. Holding my mother as she cried for the loss of her father. I don’t remember what was said or who else was there, but I remember you. Tall and strong, teaching me with your presence how to comfort someone for whom words could never be enough.
You told me of my twin cousins, dead before their first breath. You consoled me then. Said little, but said enough.
I can’t remember the first time we met. As is with memories, when I think hard enough I think I can remember. A false memory, a patchwork of times and places that my mind has assembled till the joins are barely visible.
You have always been quite. All through my childhood and adolescence the silence has been there, a shadow in the background of my life. Never a silence of distance or awkwardness. A comfortable silence. Like a sofa that is always there, not always appreciated but there none the less.
I don’t know if these words will be said in person, or what you would think of them. You have been there at my best and at my worse and your silence brought me calmness.