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.
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