for my weeping mother
my mother is afternoon moon
she was born with thorns poking through
even on days when the sun is hitting her neck and the strands of hair itch her tangerine skin
i hope she knows i know her battles
the taunting laughs of empty dishes
the dull bulbs shadowing her room
the creak of wooden floors and white doors
the smell of cigar on her balcony
strong metal taste stuck in her mouth
her delicate heart blemished
i hope she knows her war bled into my veins
and my bones house her bruises
as a child i moulded into her silent sighs
my mother
she was the black paint on X-rays
an evening stroll
her heart was a two seater
unfit for a family so big
i grew to be a woman mirrored in her shadow when she was younger
in silence i watched her comb her hair
strawberry perfume running down her wrists
her tired hands resting on the sun lit dresser
i hope she knows i'll drink tea with her as the night falls
and the moonbeams will cackle through the windows
i will love her like a long river
like the gaze of a migrating bird.

Sunehra Amreen Islam is a contributor.