Room

For my mother.

i was your me-me-me middle child    

before change came, and i closed hard,

saw from the squint corner of my eye

the limit of your chosen world.

a bundle of striving,

i found such contentment wanting,

and wanted more.

somehow i answered without positing

the call to you, a calm inlet

where my children might anchor.

since you’ve been gone,

in your place, sweet ether and everything that matters.  

also, this room

where i have placed my desk.

i work on your memoir every day, always chapter you,

trying to evoke hero as not-there, a clearing

in deep woods, all from a single seed.   

mom, i am still figuring out how the center forms,

from arms and lap and book and steady voice,  

how an offering of stillness becomes light,

how light leaves, only to shine back in.