Dear Mama,

How are you?

Oh! How you’ve aged.

I see the wrinkles on your face.

The lines that crinkle as you smile

The way the light catches your eye;

In the kitchen, there you sit

As we gossip over a cup of tea

And you would say,” Do you miss me?”

That’s the scene I play everyday

Walking in to rooms

Of “your” house

Barely touching what you left behind.

Trying to rearrange and cope

Even stopping before opening the door

Empty rooms, that linger with shapes of you.

Trapped in pictures

Barely remember

The scent you wore

Or how you laughed

Was I too young?

Or did life pass on by.

I write letters in my head

Addressing you

Telling you tales

Of life and my misfortunes.

How you would say

Or tell me what to do

I play scenes for you

Director, actor, mother

Where are you?

Curled in my state

Of emptiness and refrain

I hold back things;

For I will write them again

Dear Mama,

I miss you still!

ma

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One Reply to “Dear Mama,”

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