I Miss You, Mother

into the mindless expanse of my
psyche rises the beast with which
my own mother's tortured soul
would seek out and destroy the
me I had yet to
become

I hear the faint whisper of a
past that seems oh so familiar,
but I can't quite put my finger
on, or my heart into; and I wish I
could only reach out and take hold
of the moment, the moment
before

so I lie in my bed, arms outstretched,
feeling the air swirl about in my
lungs, the sunlight warms my toes
even through the shutters, and I
hear the joyful singing of brothers
and sisters I've never known, only
dreamed of while learning about
forgiveness and trying to
forget

from here, this broad spectral
vision of anonymity, I recount
the moments she spent raising
me

and dream of the others I've
missed

- Stephen W. Brodie