Mother

My mom died young

And I think I might die young, too

The only inheritance left to me

A willful perishing despite

Lives’ unending

But what of all we were intending?

To see the movies, bathe our breath in grease

Nothing would seem to put your mind at ease

After all that time spent spending

Time, doing not much at all

Hearing naught else but that inner squall

When familiar blues return your call

They’ll tell you that yes, indeed, you’ve lost it,

All

Mom, get the fuck up and be someone

So that I don’t have to sleep under the stairs

Scared by harpy screams

Harp strings underscoring the splitting

Of my small heart’s small dreams

The heart that, you, in concert, gave to me

Inherited empathy, adrift on

Eternally churning sea

What a burdensome heirloom, this

To, alone, hold your legacy

With eyes blinded in the mirror

When I take in the very sight of me

Becoming a reflection of you

If I die young, I’ll die like you

But would it be in honor of you?

Or in spite of you

I don’t hold the truth

Too close

Else I may not make it onto

the afternoon train to work.