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After all this…his death….the many years that have passed…you must feel forgotten.
The mother who died first.
Who launched us all into orbit.
Whose energy became our life-force.
Whose clock set our time.
Without whom we wandered fearful, lost.
Who encouraged us in the darkest moments when
doubt's tight blindfolds covered our eyes.
Whose love was our terra firma, the one constant
in the cosmos we could count on.
Who came home from work, put aside her poetry
to feed us. To wash the dishes. To clean the house.
Who nursed us through illness and held our fevered
heads over Bronx toilets.
Who never stopped, and so taught us to never stop,
until she died, until we forgot her, or remembered her
once a week, then once a month, then twice a year,
we whom she created, shaped, loved into life, her
greatest poem, we who remain filled to the brim
with her.
For Mom
April 20, 2013