a poem not for my mother Brooke Kenney The pacific ocean. the red sea. the columbia river. oldham pond. the pool never touched from embarrassment. a glass of water with lipstick stains. a drop of rain. three tears. then two. I have watched my mother weep, seen her smile, heard her laugh, felt her embrace. but I have never felt happiness within her touch unless she was hand in hand with the sun. She tells me loneliness feels like a meteor in space. alone for so long that you can’t blame it when it finally crashes. But I have sat in my room alone. I have cried by myself into my pillow. I know how it feels to float in space and not be able to breathe. I know because I will not burden her with my emptiness because I am afraid she’ll crash.
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