Had a visit from my mom this week.
Strange, after all these years
I couldn't see her, she didn't speak
but she was there in my living room.
It was food, of all things,
that brought her presence near.
I didn't ask her how she'd been
I didn't speak a word
I just sat in my easy chair observing
her effigy formed of childhood memory
I thought of graham cracker sandwiches,
the icing thick between,
a plateful of treats on the black marble-topped island.
I thought of squeezing the cracker tight,
the icing gushing out the sides.
I’d lick each ridge, gathering the sugary stuff with my tongue
then smooshing the cracker between my palms
to see how much more I could get out without breaking the cracker
I'd like to tell you I remember her smiling at me,
that I recall my antics giving her joy.
If I did tell you, it would be a lie,
for though I remember the scene,
she's not there.
She's not been there for a long time now.
She doesn't visit as often as dad does
but this week she dropped by
to offer a wordless hello
and to remind me of happiness long ago
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