/ Poetry /
I’m sorry for the way I mourn those you’ve lost.
I often look the way toward happier things, toward
Peace lilies and yellow tulips.
Toward dances of babies hardly able to stand on pudgy toes.
I don’t send heartfelt cards. My words brief, choppy,
Inappropriate. If they are present at all.
I only think about sending texts of flowery words.
I don’t send flowers.
I do long for you to be comforted.
Like the embrace of my mother in her muumuu
on a Saturday afternoon
After she cleaned the house, hung clothes on the line.
Her list of things to do finally complete.
I imagine her like this, satisfied. Not as the wounded wife,
wounded mother.
Who left the Earthly realm before knowing the blessing
of her own existence.
I’m sorry for the way I mourn those you’ve lost. To know
your sadness is also
To remember my mother’s, and sadly, my own.
When your someone ascends, perhaps I become a child again,
a consequence of longing for a connection
That my mother never found.
I’m sorry for the way I help you mourn that is no help at all.
My condolences
Whisked away in memories.