and here I am mother, the diamonds in your ring sparkle and my hands and wrists are yours - but you are not here to call to speak to across the stones your hall, your kitchen golden with the memory of lights and fire. I will miss you forever and nothing makes up for it: death and life that we live with and die - too much care all these miles and years distant - I am appalled I did not know it would be like this: all skinned knees, broken bones, the climb the fall.next poem