Mother, I miss you,
For I can no longer
Spill over the fruits
Of my harvest
To your willing ears,
To your captive smile,
To your thousand
Acclamations.
Mother, I miss you:
My distaff, divine rod,
My compass, pointing
True North,
Guiding me through peril,
Traversing the morass
Of fear, quenching me,
Spinning laughter.
Mother, I miss you,
Conspirator, confidante,
Keeper of secrets
Inviolate.
Locked in your garden,
My darkest desires
Seeded and sprouted
And bloomed.
Mother, I miss you,
You gypsy, you roamer,
You wandering, wily
Card-poster:
What ship have you left on,
What voyage embarked on,
Without booking passage
For me?
Copyright 2018 Andrea LeDew
So moving, Andrea! Thank you for bringing it back for those of us who didn‘t see it yet. I see your dear mother so clearly next to me—and miss her.
Margrit
Thank you Margrit. Its good to have touchstones to help us recollect what weve lost. And this poem comes from a time when the pain was still fresh and the space she once occupied felt like a yawning vacuum. You have been a great help in getting me through both my parents’s passing. This site, I suppose, is at least in part my version of wailing and keening.
Really beautiful, Andrea.
Thank you!