origin

momma, mother, madre, ama,
you are but theoretical.

no matter where I look,
in my peripheral vision,
your silhouette will linger.
I turn to see you, but
too slow are my reflexes.
you're gone just as instantly
as I felt you there.

the weight of your absence
lays across my shoulders
and before I'm conscious of it,
the curvature in my spine
is like the s you taught me to draw
in my name.

Things are so different now
than they were back then.
Darker hair and tired eyes
paint the picture of today
but your image will never change:
silent, intimidating, constant.

Abstract as you may be
I will never be free of you.
Never.