When one mentions the word woman,
                       I remember mom,
               When I define the word “mother”,
               I always think of mom, the word,
           however both cheers me up and saddens me,
            thinking that you’re one of the angels
          now flying through those trees presumably,
          or one of those cheeky birds zooming past
      as I walk this path of the living, and the dead.

            I wish that you are here with us now,
                  though, probably at home,
         you reading your dreadful Harlequin romances
        and me making this poem in a doting cheery way,
         and slightly crying, and probably hating you
  for sharing with me your hatred for anything mathematics.

                  But that is not the case,
            I know, you are there now somewhere,
         and I am here, longing, gasping for breath
        as memories drown me each time I remember you,
 its’ hard living with the fact that you are already beneath
           the very soil that we once played in to.

       It is hard to yearn for someone whose heartbeat
      I’ll no longer hear - my mind imagining the sound,
              memorizing the staccato rhythm,
      breathing in the sound of your all-too familiar laugh,
               your face scrolling through my mind,
        your voice mournfully tapping inside my eardrums,
       tormenting my sanity because fate has reassured me
     that there is no way will my desires ever come to life,
           like having you back, physically, for real.

                 But all is unbearable silence.
           And this silence becomes louder, heavier,
            when I am writing and thinking about it
        because perhaps the things I am telling you now
and want to tell will always remain unheard or unread by you.
                    But this is for you,
                   I always remember you,
                         my mother.

-Michael C. Jamillon