I chose not to notice, Mama,
When you sat on the stairs out of breath,
Assuming you wanted to hear more of
My whining about teaching the empty-head youth
The counselors stuck me with when truth be told
You hadn't the strength to climb those steps.

I chose not to notice or worry,
When you, Mama, told me you quit swimming,
Because you, the athlete among us,
Lacked the strength to climb the ladder
Out of the pool. You who swam in Tahoe
When the water was fifty degrees.

I blissfully filled my days with the everyday,
Instead of devoting that last week to you.
Oh, I took off and raced down the coast,
My heart beating harder, tears on my face,
Finally worried, too late. You had agreed
To the breathing tube, "just to clear the lungs."

Your last words to us, written in shaky letters,
So that the older brother went to a writing
Expert, and when we learned the message,
"This is wrong," we had to do it.
Take the breathing tube away. Hold your hand
As it grew cold, like clay, like an inanimate thing.

Mama, you will never be inanimate.
You live in my heart. We talk every day.
I see your beauty. I admire your intellect.
I wonder why I was so detached and left you
To your thoughts. When we could have
Had some final laughs, some final words of peace,
Some words you longed to hear that I chose Not to say.

I say them now. You were and always will be,
My sainted mother, though you did not believe
In saints. I would rub balm on the wounds

Of raising me, rebellious and zealous
And so cocky that at eighteen, we youth would
Change the world. I was fifty when I lost you.
I curled into a ball and cried. My brothers too.
I cannot remember the last months I taught
From April to June that year. Some robotic me
Went through the motions, and I cried each day
In my time alone on my dog walks until summer
When I was free to grieve all day.

Sometimes a scent reminds me of how you
Loved gardenias and flowering jasmine.
Or the oil catches fire as I try to make
Tortillas your way, and fail again.
The rush of a breaker as I tread deep water,
I'm short, the waves are high, but you
Taught me to make a choice quickly, to duck
Under or take the chance on the zooming,
Burbling salty power of the ocean we both love.

I miss you mama. There has never been
And never will be another woman like you.
You were a generation ahead of the 50s moms,
You worked because you wanted to,

And wore your hair in braids, so much easier
Than fiddling with a chignon. You made your clothes,
Mine too, and if they weren't Dior, who cared?
How I love to stroll through a fabric shop
And dream of outfits we could put together.
You come with me always and help me choose.

So I say to you on Tuesday, "Happy Birthday."
You never cared for fussing over you,

Or expensive presents or parties.
A bear hug from my hulky husband
You two had such a bond. Sending kisses
From my dogs, for you would have loved them
Like children. Hugs from my two kids
Who turned out well despite some of my "new style" foolishness.
And all the love of my 65 years wrapped up
In a dream and a poem sent to you.
But you know and always knew that, even when
I was afraid to say so.
Uncomfortable with the depth of loving you.
When everything I loved got taken away
By fate or human carelessness with others' hearts