Prose

Mother, I love You

I love you mom 
I saw mother laugh for the first time in a very 
long time today. she was walking down the road 
with the three year old son of a friend when he 
suddenly burst out dancing to a song playing 
from the radio of a passing car, she threw her 
head back and laughed at the sight of it, 
and for a moment she appeared like she owned 
the universe, like she didn't cry 
herself to sleep every night. minutes later, the 
sadness was back in her eyes; dark and 
foreboding. 
Ever since my transition, I have conspired with 
nature to communicate with her but when I come 
as the wind, she shuts the windows. when I 
come as the sun, she closes the doors. when I 
come as a storm, she locks herself inside, and 
when I come as the rainbow, she doesn't look 
up. 
The fact that she does not believe in ghosts, well 
except the holy ghost, makes communicating 
with her complex, 
and even more complex is the fact that she does 
not believe my passing on , "no no no", she 
clucks at anyone who tries to tell her otherwise; 
"my son is in amelika and he's coming back 
soon, he promised he will come back and carry 
me on a aeloplane to harry-zona". every morning 
she makes eba and afang soup and puts it in the 
cooler just in case I show up. 
In the nighttime, I float through the streets I 
walked on as a living being and visit the homes 
of all the people I loved; I kiss adora on her 
forehead and read her poetry through her 
dreams, I uncrease the worry lines on my 
brother's face and put little rays of sunshine in 
his pocket, I put my ears to my son Joseph's heart and
listen to his heartbeat because hearing it is the 
closest I get to feeling alive again, and finally I 
visit mother's bedside and try to dry her tears, 
telling her she was the best thing to happen to 
me while I was alive and even death has not 
reduced an ounce of my love for her. 
she rolls over and fiddles her rosary while 
praying for me to come back. 
I keep hoping one day she'll realize I never left her and if she looks closely at dawn, she'll see my footprints in the morning dew and if she listens carefully at dusk, 
she'll hear my voice in the wind whispering over 
and over again: "I love you mom, I love you 
mom, I love you mom...." 

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