sending

i can feel her, here,
today, this day,

when i did not
go home
when i did not
light incense
when i did not
visit her grave

i felt her, though,
this day, this morning

when i woke from
dreams of my
mother’s scolding me
for my absence

there is nothing
quite like the guilt
of a grandchild
who wishes she
had been better
who wishes there
had been more time
who wishes she
understood then
what she remembers now.

today, this day,
thirteen years ago,
she left.

one night, not long
after that day,

she came to me
in a dream

as those who
leave often do–

they visit the ones
left behind
who loved them

that night, i
thought it was
morning

i thought
i saw her on the
forest green sofa
breathing, waving
me over, and i cried

i cried, for all that
i had not been
and for all that i
will forever try
to be

for her.

that night,
that morning,
was a letting go,
i suppose.

this morning,
rising from that
dream, i knew
that she knows

how much
she is missed,
is loved, is honored,
is thanked, every
single day

we tell
each other
things
all the time

no need for
incense
or tears
to carry
the messages.

(title from t.k.k.)