CALL ME BELOVED

Always, your smile was always springtime warm.
Taught yourself French with dozens of cassettes
borrowed from the library – you dreamed of Paris,
painted wide landscapes of deserts, adobo domes,
oceans, beaches; read Louis L’Amour and escaped
any chance you could – taught me shapes of words
too, you took me with you, for a while – all of those
memories glow sepia tone, they’re almost a home.

I hope I don’t haunt you. Always I’ve wanted you
happy – how long I’ve sobbed for all of the love I
sent; hoping for ripples to echo their way back,
even as I child I could see you were riddled with
holes, gaps I thought I could fill – I’m sorry, mom.
I tried, and how long I’ve cried, self hatred flared
because I could not burn bright enough for you,
because I’m sure you sob, too – your sun has left