she still looks like herself..
porcelain, yet fierce.
but there is now
something ghost-like
shifting behind her eyes.

she’s forgotten how to hold me,
the way she used to.
when i was small enough
to believe her arms
were impenetrable.

she calls my name,
but something doesn’t sound right.
like someone else
is wearing her voice.

i keep looking—
longing for the softness
she used to keep
behind her teeth.
but all i find
is bitterness
and conversations
i can’t sit through.

at times i wonder,
if she mourns me too
the child she formed
from the softest parts of herself,
who learned to disappear
the second she did.