do you remember me?

you tilt your head

your little knit hat slides to the side

revealing cobweb wisps of hair

mother's flightless fingers extend and nudge it back

they drift silently to her side and power off

she is not here. it is too hard for her to be here.

i ask again. do you remember me?

your gaze flickers once, twice, with each slow blink

a blink too slow for what was once brilliant shard of glass

and is now pockmarked and smoothed over with time

toughened until it is softened

softened until it is washed away by an implacable sea

there is nothing in this interaction

there is nothing in you

there is nothing in my mother's numbed throat

and there is nothing in the questions that i ask

the preface of a bumbling smile shapes your terrapin mouth

and for a moment, i am hopeful that there is something

no matter how small or frightful

i will take anything

i make the mistake of glancing in your ocean eyes to find it

there is nothing there but endless waves, endless water

endlessness upon endlessness

you do not remember me

but it's okay

we remember you