I'm yelling goodbye to my Mother

I’m yelling goodbye to my Mother.
It’s hard to hear above the din:
the files sch-sch-sch
across our fingernails and there’s the tap
and soft fizz of a hair straightener in our ears.
It’s too loud to hear.

I know her face so well it’s sometimes hard
to picture it.

Did you know
people’s self-image is so distorted
they would pass by their own clones
without pause?
But I know, I know, I know
I look just like her.
Our faces are sunk into the deep pool past childhood
and into before-you-were-born so
my self-perception is wavy.

Are we all just a continuation of our Mothers?

I’m yelling goodbye to my Mother
Before goodbye has even come because there’s
A tarmac and clattering wheels to contend with.

I think my story is an arm stretching through
me and into her
high-school days and heartbreak.
A clenched fist.

I know her face so well that missing her seems as silly
As missing the sky.
It’s hard to hear my goodbye. 

Artwork by Alexandra Levasseur "Troubles"