Sometimes Mother

My mother is five years gone and

Sometimes I still want to say her name

In the stairwell

Where it bounces around

Waiting to receive an answer.

I think my body is becoming more like hers

And I move her way sometimes

And sometimes I stumble

Over English words

Even though I speak English.

I’d like to sit with her quietly

Again on the couch with her sewing box

Stuffed and waiting.

Women are oceans

And mothers make harbors of us.

Sometimes I am full of frightful weather

Ballads are written about my unpredictability

But I draw out ships to me just the same

And wreck them easy

With the sweetness and mystery

Of storytelling.

My fingers touch so many shores

Sea creatures with spotted faces grow

Twisting silently inside me.

I wonder if there is a crescent of land

That will still contain me,

An arm wrapped around

The very center of my body.