(when it counted.)
you would think in over two decades of time
i would have done more for the woman who raised me
that a thing so simple as an embrace would be easy
it’s not, i suppose. i couldn’t tell you why
my mom has only cried once.
(in front of me.)
are we both walled gardens, cloistered women, forbidden cities
with veils so impassable that only the mightiest surges of emotion might break through the surface
grief towering like a wave
so powerful i still feel its reverberations today
and instead of speaking we mourn, quiet, alone
i hope one day
i will be brave enough
to hug you