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
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