Ode for My Mother

photo by Prapat Aowsakorn

today my mother cuts her hair low, 
she looks old & tired.
i can see it from the silence in her eyes.

i am looking through her private things locked up & hidden,
maybe i will be lucky to see some childhood photos
of her dressed in t-shirt & jean, a big smile, 
                                   the medical kit box 
she abandoned for my father,
or a love letter he wrote her
which i don’t believe he ever did.

when i think of how much i have aged, 
                                    i think of how much my mother has lived to keep me alive. 
i want to see the history of how she gathered
herself from there to here 
then into the silence i am looking at.

i swear, god knows how much 
my mother has traveled inside herself, 
everyday memories hold her hands into something deep
& the kettle beside her has learned
how to whistle her cries & 
the songs wrecked in her throat. 

today, my mother cuts her hair low & everything 
  has changed about her except
the grief she wears as hat.