.
This past Thursday was the ninth anniversary of my mother’s death. With my brother’s wife, I was at her graveside, beside my father. Anne and I laughed before we cried: a lot of familial channeling went on – voices and manners of speech, verbal expressions. This year, more than the pain of taking away, there was the hole of missing so much, never to be filled.
“oh antic God”
oh antic God
return to me
my mother in her thirties
leaned across the front porch
the huge pillow of her breasts
pressing against the rail
summoning me in for bed.
I am almost the dead woman’s age times two.
I can barely recall her song
the scent of her hands
though her wild hair scratches my dreams
at night. return to me, oh Lord of then
and now, my mother’s calling,
her young voice humming my name.
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I know so well how deep this feeling is.
Wishing you the beauty of the holiday season, Jay. May peace be with you throughout the coming New Year.
Your good wishes are especially welcome and returned, Maureen. Thank you for your support and all you do.