I stand in front of my mother’s house,
holding her heart in my hands,
wondering why she wont open the door.
My mother speaks with ghosts.
She can’t hear me, they are too loud.
She can’t see me, they stand in the way,
She can’t touch me, they have peeled away her skin.
I live without my mother even though she cooks me dinner,
Her meals are delicious, her home is immaculate
Her care is perfect,
But she is no where to be seen.
I reach out and she holds my hand but also drops it a moment later,
As she recognises her own veins in mine.
I cry for my mother every night,
I may cry my whole life.
My mother can never read this,
She has tried too hard,
It will break her heart.
Yet her heart is with me I remember,
I hold it close, I hold it safe.
My mother’s door remains shut.
I stand, I wait, I’ll wait forever,
Maybe someday she will see me, I pray,
Or maybe someday I will.
- Jaquelline T.* is a pseudonym used to protect the writer's confidentiality.