Another poem about my mom. I think her presence in my life is more grounding now than when I was younger.
My brother sent a picture to my other brothers and I
from his visit to see Mom.
It looks just like the picture I took several months ago.
A gravestone, grass, and hints of a clear day.
I wonder what they talked about.
I can’t believe their conversation was anything like
the conversation I had with her.
Maybe the part about missing her.
But other than that,
Not much in common.
Son, Daughter,
Different touch points,
Different interests,
Different perspectives on
family, religion, life in general,
Life as promised,
Life as lived.
Same gravestone,
Same setting.
Different plot points,
And different resolutions.
We all miss her.
Pictures help.
Sometimes I hear her voice in my head,
So real, like she is physically near me
It reminds me
who she was,
And explains the core of who I am.
