I know it’s irrational to worry
about how cold she would be
underground.  I place 
her urn on our hearth, anyway,
cozy and warm.  Hopefully, in her
new enlightened dimension,
she will actually appreciate
the gesture.  But, I doubt it.  I can
almost hear her complaining
that I don’t dust the urn enough;
that my husband and I stay up
too late when she’s trying to sleep;
that she hates our choice of TV shows:
police dramas instead of her favorite

Need I remind you, mom,
that I am probably the only person
mourning you?

She is the sore subject my siblings
don’t want to bring up anymore.  Good
riddance is the general by-line.  But,
grief still visits me.  When I come across
a rare pair of clip-on earrings,
I want to buy them for mom.  On
Mother’s Day, I feel the strangeness
of not giving her a call.  It’s
the familiarity of her presence,
for three quarters of my life,
that I miss.  Those memories hijack me,
and I weep, alone