& the [last last last] poem i’ll write about my (dead) mother

my moms is in my head tonight & she’s talkin’ all that weird shit. askin’ me

        why you leave & where you been. mama, i been sittin’ under this oak tree & i been busy

missing you. i put out two nickels on the edge of our water fountain in honor

of your memory. often (or always) i have dreams we’re skatin’: your strawberry blonde hair dancin’
with the wind. did you ever dream about me mama? / was i alive in your mind in your final days /
did i ever seep into your memory / did the cancer wipe my existence away? mama, i been sittin’
under this oak tree & i been thinkin’ bout you. sometimes i close my eyes & speak your name.

i open them:                you are here & then

i blink

& miss                           the wind

wash you

         away again.