My Eyes

I don’t see you as you are,

frail, anguished, dying.

I see you lost in Schubert

as your fingers dance on piano keys.

I see your face, so mortified

at my frayed shorts

from sliding on wet concrete.

I see you singing in the car

as we drove cross-country.

I see you kissing me goodnight

when sunset filled my room with pink.

I don’t see you as you are.

I will always see you

through the eyes of childhood.

published the day my mother died, November 1, 2023, on Medium