A poem not for my mother

Brooke Kenney

The pacifc 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 fnally crashes.

But I have sat in my room alone. I have cried by myself into my pillow. I know how it feels to foat 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.

I tell her to focus on the waves that kiss her feet, the waterfall we found in the desert, long bubble baths, the smell after rain, the ocean breeze on a hot day

But she dreams too hard, she is stuck some place. some place in space in her own world. I can only hope, she sees the same blue sky, that I do.

Shpresa Ymeraj