My mother

to my mother

I call August very cruel

for it seemed so unreal

that a joyful life is simply shattered

to recall, shredded in albums or anecdotes regaled.

But that was only terribly once

that your body felt so stiff and cold like ice

so numb and dead

leaving me dazed and stunned.

Now in my mirror, sometimes

I see how similar even you looked, at times

the inheritance was not my choice

but today that's how I hear your voice.

They say you know your mother

when you yourself become a mother

these days I brood over that new knowledge

--a turmoil with regrets and apologies to pledge.

As my life meanders across

those unpalpable mounds I too cross

Hopeless, I still long for your caress

warm as it was, always.