Dear Mom,
I ocean, you moon; the gravity of your reach
pulls me into myself.
I know that you dream of your mother
I hear you whisper her name at night,
the sound of star dust eclipsing gun smoke;
I know your reality does not match your dreams.
Your third world dusk and stars
contour my first world’s rusted scars.
I thought about you when I veered to write
and you too left to a time
where I couldn’t see the wrinkles on your face
Dear Mom
I worry I have nothing to give
You (my) ocean, (my)/i moon.