mamacita

A poem about dealing with long-term grief over the loss of a parent.

Here it comes,
the end of year number three,
it's so strange to think it's been so long
since you were here with me.

What a morbid milestone,
so much attached to a date,
I remember it so vividly, but I can't ask you
about old memories and mysteries.
It's too late.

I miss you, Mom.
I miss our fights
I miss your hugs
and your chicken soup
and how you're always right.

I miss hearing your voice
I miss your controlling ways
I miss the way you knew me
I miss the time before,
when January 14 was just a regular day.