I had a mother. Sometimes I can’t remember her looks
To spark my brain, I look thru her bins of Polaroids and unfinished photo-books
Her smile presents flashes of times, distorted, but shared
Slender hands, big laugh and coiled dark hair
Time passes, my eyes close, and her face leaves again
In darkness, I see her nose, more distinct now than it was then.
Large, to the point of cartoonish, I know it’s only in my mind’s eye.
It’s shiny, sharp, and Latin and death-defyingly high.
My brain forgets a face, but remembers a nose that stands tall.
I’d rather have this piece of her than nothing at all.
Now, hope clings tight for memories to come.
What’s next to find? An eyebrow? A thumb?
Any reminder of her presence will satisfy me now.
Until the ache of loss is overcome by all the joy the universe will allow.
I have a mother and she has me too.
Time steals memories, but Angels can make them new.