I like to look at the mountains.
And imagine the clouds are smoke from happy campers hidden in their folds.
I like to imagine it’s lakes and ponds are mirrors,
Where I look more like my mom everyday.
Her jaw, her smile, her spreading lips and simple way of speaking.
I hate it.
How much I want to scrub your genes off my nose and my mouth and the way I beg for love.
Inheritance of useless self medication and chasing after dogs.
The losing kind of dogs.
I hate my face because I miss you mom.
I miss you mom.
I followed a mom. And daughter.
Giggling in matching genes, holding hands and loving.
I followed them through the aisles and wished it were us.
Holding hands in ghost heaven.
You haunt my dreams so I cannot sleep.
Happy Mother’s Day.
I miss you.