Fair-Weather Mother

Fair-Weather Mother

exists in sun drenched memories:

water park chlorine mist,

mixed with her earthy scent;

and on her breath, the contents of a bottle,

liquid amber that rusts through veins.

Take me back to ankle tall waterfalls

and making smores in backyards at night.

But then began the rain,

reminding us that nothing ever goes right.

She’d leave again until until everything settles

and the weather was fair and fine.

Fair-Weather Mother

gave us no home.

For too long with our troubles,

reminded her of her own.

I can almost forgive her

for not being all she could.

I understand the need for us to know

only the parts of her that were good.

She wanted to share her highs

and all the happiness she felt,

but left us when her lows

riddled her with doubt.

Fair-Weather Mother

apologized for things not yet done.

As if she knew her demons

were close to having won.

We’ll spread her ashes somewhere nice

somewhere bathed in mostly sun.

And in death as in life,

somewhere far away from us.

Did she dream of something other

than being a sometimes-there

Fair-Weather Mother

was better

than no mother at all.