When I Miss Her

When I Miss Her

6/10/2013

My mother called me beautiful

as rains pounded against glass

and a gloomy mood

set down and hushed the hallways.

In her chosen chair,

she stirred in fits and starts

complained my hands were cold

squeezed them ‘til they turned blue.

When finally she woke

to walk back to her bed

she reached her tender hands

to cup my face and in

her native custom

kissed both my suntanned cheeks.

My mother called me beautiful -

as someone she might know?

A variation on her self?

My mother called me beautiful

then returned to rest

rain still rapping on the roof.