i will be with my mom at the end of her life
as i know that she would be for mine.
it’s not obligation that leads me to say it,
it’s just how i intend to spend the time.
no person who gives out a part of themselves
will ever be truly forgotten.
these parts will change hands,
and they surpass lifespans,
alive as long as they are passed along.
i remember the parts passed to me,
and after she’s gone,
i will remember my mom.
my mother sat like a book on the shelf
through the cold autumn years of her life,
replaying her memories like a tape on repeat
over and over in her mind.
she’d always been the kind of a mother
who would put others before herself,
this much i know.
there were men in her life
who took well advantage
before they got up to go.
imagine all of your memories
of mistakes that you made
played over in your mind
like the loop of a tape.
do my mother’s regrets,
for which she lost rest,
do they keep you awake at night?
could you tell me that father?
do your memories haunt you, sir?
or are you content with what you left behind?
i will be with my mom at the end of her life,
but sir i will not be for yours.
you’ve done nothing to earn it and frankly,
you don’t deserve it,
so you won’t be receiving that reward.
there are people who’s names
are passed down generations,
and sir, yours is not one of them.
consider it a consequence
of a mistake that you made,
for which there will never be amends.
how is that for a memory
to keep you awake?
there are parts that you gave to me,
but there are parts of us all, i think,
that are better off left behind.
there are parts of us all
that are better left to die.