PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I can't remember calling out to you.
What did I call you?
Mom?
Mommy?
Mum?
Mummy?
Momma?
Maman?
Linda?
Linda Jean?

How I am like you,
kind, funny, smart,
with the talent to make people feel,
they are the only ones I see in a room,
Just as you did.

Not your youthful Ava Gardner beauty,
for I am paler and blonde, a taller version,
like a false promise of the demure.
Passionately energetic am I,
but I will get sick like you.

Will my daughter know,
what I went thru for her?
Twenty thousand a month,
just trying to conceive her.
So she won't bear my burdens,
she won't have our gene for HD.

But that is merely half the battle,
for the rest is in the watching,
watching your mama sink,
softly painlessly into oblivion.

Forgetting her, but visiting her.
Not recognizing her voice or touch.
Wondering where she is now?

Then you see a twinkle in her eye,
and I see her for a tenth of a second.
Oh, how it stings and smarts,
kills me bit by tender bit.

This is why my daddy babies me.
Why my daddy's eyes never smile.
He who has already lost his only son.
And I own it all in my heart,
the pain that swirls around me.

Into that my daughter comes.
The only one that will ever understand,
she'll never know or remember,
is her split second momma,
its me.