for eighteen years
mother came behind me
making beds, scrubbing tubs
gathering dishes from
discarded meals
she collected pieces of my life
letters from my pockets
hair bows of my childhood
torn pages from old diaries
memorabilia,
as though i had ceased to exist
the day my car
picked up speed on the interstate
mother writes poetry too,
thinking i've left her, she cries silently into
the still air of my childhood home, but
i am always with mother, and
mother is always with me
i collected her life too,
her tastes in music, her sense of humor
her smile.
thank you mother for keeping me alive
in my absence
