Mother's Day 5 AM

the memory of her starting to fade

it's been 37 years

tho I can still conjour her dimples, her smile

the crinkles around her eyes

the small painting of her by my desk helps

the one with her teased blond hair

I never did see her natural auburn hair

except in one picture of her

holding me when i was a baby

in the painting

she’s wearing a high neck leopard blouse

replacing the black she always wore

that i wear now

the sound of her voice

i’m no longer sure of

tho I can almost see her laughing

but maybe she is just smiling

smiling at me,

from that painting of her by my desk

I remember her rubbing my back

as we lay together watching TV

on the plaid couch downstairs

in the finished basement

with the black speckled floor

i'm seven trying on her shoes with no toes

later when i was a teenager, i would sneak into her room

to read the forbidden novels she kept

in the night table

I can see the bottle of Chanel #5

on her black japanese lacquered dresser

tho the scent alludes me now

all these years later