I Have Not Dreamed of You

I have not dreamed of you, my Mother

long gone many years now

I am so much older than you were

when you finally left this world behind ~

almost twice your age

so it is hard for me to think of you

as my Mother, unless I return to those days

when you and I were split

like dry wood that the axe took down

I keep trying to remember love ~ yours ~ mine

and how it was . . . once

but it's hard recalling, even though I know it

must have been . . . once.

Darkness swallows our trail

it floats along linoleum floors

and a porcelain sink that stood in the corner

of that small kitchen where you painted your hair

so bright, so red and necessary

for that look that turned men's heads.

I was very young, no matter

still you taught me how to

paint the hairs you missed

in back of your head ~

the back of your head

where you always kept me

close at hand for secrets

hard to hold for one so young

but you needed me

and I kept your secrets

yes I did ~ for years.

I wish that I could dream of you

just once ~

and the days when your brown eyes

smiled at me and your soft hands

touched my face, and remember how

love must have been ~ once.

Joanne Cucinello