Dear Unnamed,

 

 

I listen to "Over the Rainbow”

its tropical tunes carry my thoughts--

The backseat of our red station wagon

armored with Hawaiian plates

And driven by you.

I have always clung

to the sound--

your voice singing along.

 

I become more aware of death,

more fearful.

Regardless of hurt in the past,

I do not want to live my life without knowing

You, my mother.

 

I realize that you are still here--

It hurts to think

time lost,

time that I cannot mend,

time that I did not break.

 

I miss you--

youthful spirit,

creativity,

misunderstandings.

 

I miss having you--

a real person in my life,

a woman having my back,

my mother.

 

Have I lost you?

Worst of all,

is it my fault that you are gone?

You are not;

You, mother,

Are a few clicks and a button

Some airwave.

 

Yet, you live a lightyear away

And I see only stars.

 

My mother,

You are the light of my disillusionment,

my childlike yearning for motherly love.

Perhaps,

if I stretched my little fingers,

earnestly wanting,

I could catch you,

perhaps.

 

But mother,

My vision tunnels itself--

my faults,

favorite memories of you.

 

I do not want to be scarred by memories,

abuse and tears,

but alternatively, I blame myself,

be broken.

 

I could hate you,

hurting me,

robbing my Alutiiq heritage,

destroying my concept of “family.”

 

I do not.

Instead, I recall an oblong drawing--

you and I, hearts connected:

“Maamaqa and Fiona forever.”

 

But Mother,

Those fingers grew,

And Forever left with you.