Medicine Of Remembrance

Part 1: Death by Broken Memory

I’m terrified of what’s inside of me,

I do not know its name.

This pain that’s waiting for its chance,

Desperate to be claimed.

Death by broken memory,

That’s how my mother died.

Death by one hundred things,

But mostly,

Forgetting how to be alive.

I watched her spirit fade then RISE,

Her body cast aside,

The day my mother left the earth,

The day we said goodbye.

Lipstick bottles,

Memories,

Clothes for every mood,

Uncried tears for the joys,

That were never hers to lose.

Lost to a body,

Lost to a broken head.

On a bed I set her in,

Waiting to be dead.

To a place,

Where she felt loved.

Where the pain would go away.

A place she would remember,

That who she was is okay.

My terror now,

My tenderness,

What won’t let me be,

Is forgetting who I really am,

Or else, next up,

It's me.

Part 2: The Medicine

Sobbing to her picture,

Calling out her name.

Telling her I needed her.

Desperate to remain.

I sought it out,

The medicine.

The path to my insides.

Buried deep,

There they were.

Memories try to hide.

Memories of falling out,

Of losing how to feel.

Her body warm and close to me.

Desperate, she was real.

A real life person,

Flaws and all.

A mother deep and true.

A half baked try,

At holding on.

Really, I just needed you.

But the medicine,

Had a different plan.

One that knew my name.

A path that led me deeper still,

Filled with open flames.

Burning off my stories,

The ones I wrote for you.

Stories of captivity,

That never would come true.

Stories that made you someone,

You were never meant to be.

Stories that diminished you.

So much I couldn’t see.

A woman hanging on for life,

Never knowing her own soul.

Scared of who she really was,

Scared of getting old.

And yet, I know,

Darling, mother, mine,

How much you cherished me.

How you wished me everything,

Wished me to be free.

A place where you could never go,

A place in my own heart.

Where the pain still lingers now,

Though we’re never far apart.

Loving me in gushing waves,

Smiles flicker with delight.

Holding me into your arms,

Holding me so tight.

Begging me, remember, Bec,

Remember to be true,

To the little girl inside of me,

Of her, of us, of you.

We are the living photograph,

Of who she dared to be.

Of sacred, flowing, confidence,

Of someone who is free.

I honor her through memory

Of life, of course, and me.

In loving her, in touching hearts,

This is divinity.