literature

Bits and pieces: For My Mother

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Literature Text

I want to tell you that you are beautiful
But I don’t want to insult you
Because you are so much more than that
You are everything that beautiful wishes it could be

I want to tell you that I miss you

You have always been my home
The most stable structure in my life

We moved when I was seven
So you would think that
I’ve had enough time to unpack all my
Baggage
But I must have left a few boxes back home
Because that’s all I can think of lately
Whenever I fill out a form I write
“Asheville, North Carolina” for current city and state
when I really should write “living in the past”
as my current state of mind
because when I close my eyes I see Boone
I see King Street and the Blue Ridge parkway;
a bronze statue of Doc Watson and the Bean Stalk;
but most importantly I see you

You’re my only constant
Built on top of concrete bricks
Fashioned from photo albums and
Sandra Boynton books in cardboard boxes

I wrapped myself in that dress of yours
the color of fed ex moving truck orange
because it smelled like you


sometimes I feel like the last bit of
residue resembling resentment
left on that window pane of yours
mimicking the way that fog
and sunlight
fought over one another to be able to
press themselves against the glass of your windows
and just look at you

warsan shire wrote that
“you can’t make homes out of human beings”
but I beg to differ
because you are the house I grew up in

I’ve tried running away from home but there will always be a part of you with me

You are a wooden house in a sundress

Your arms are the walls which helped hold me up a little higher above your head
I sat on the roof reaching for god and the sun and the stars like I did when I sat on your shoulders and saw heaven on the horizon
You breathed lullabies through open windows and cracked doors
You taught me what love meant when you remodeled to make room for me
And you taught me what sacrifice meant when you chipped away at layers of paint and yourself until you got to my favorite color
I learned how to walk on your wooden floors, but you are anything but beneath me

You are the house I grew up in
So when I say “I miss home” what I really mean is “I miss you”
I've been trying to write a poem for weeks now and all these little pieces just took form today. I want to write a poem about moving and about my mother and about home, but I'm not sure how to structure it just yet. So, for now, its just bits and pieces. If anyone has any advice or suggestions it would be very appreciated.
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cerealnovels's avatar
This is really beautiful and contains such eloquent expressions of love.