For Mom:

i can see your hair
lots of hair, and lots of changes i'll never approve of
roots of grey
some of out of tuned brown
but all images of hair
i see your finger nails, and the skin that gets ripped off when you don't know what else to do
i see you in patterened aprons
and jeans that rise just a little too high over your belly button
i think of your front tooth
yours and mine similar in the way it rotates subtly
i see the birth mark on your head, just as mine mimicked as well
i see you for the freckles on your back, and the cyst you had removed when i was 5
back when i didn't know what a cyst even was.
i think of you in grids, and color codes
calendars that are one day early
and clocks that are 3 minutes fast
i think of you in labeled shoe boxes, and eye lashes that have the chance to be something bigger
i think of the blue bed spread, and how it canopies over your legs after a long day
i think of you on the couch,tv flickering on your closed lids
i can see your purse, the tin foil from the gum that makes too much noise in church
and the commerce bank pens that always fill out blank checks
i see you in pace, and steady movement
in tree branches, and car seats
i see the tags that hang from your keychain ensemble
and the noise they make when you enter the house
i see you L.L.Bean tote bag you've had since i remember our relationship as mother and daughter
i see you in hand movements, movements that communicate to the ones that cant do their ears justice
i see you in eyebrow shifts, in expressions that try to communicate what her heart wants but words cant
i see you in greens and browns, blacks, and navy's
patterns of clothing fill in spaces of memory i wasn't around for
patterns of dance costumes, florals that hang in my closet, red sequins up in the attic
i see you in skinny hard copies
legs a prominent subject
i think of you as many parts, never as a whole
i think of you in terms of what i will look like soon
but maybe never
i see the radio on, the blue squares indicating the car is going to be cold in a few minutes
i see paint chips on the wall, and green coffee mugs that line up with intention
i see the green place mats that are ready to make it to the wash because Ben spilled ketchup again
i think of you in color and texture
green and ever changing hair and charts
i'll never write on that calender, mom
but i'll hold contentment that there's a place for just about everything
even the L.L.Bean bag that's always a part of the family.