"Letter to Ma" by Lillianna Lamagna
Letter to Ma
Like all good mothers
you named me for inspiration.
for hope. For the flowers and myth
and the love of beauty. Ma, when
does a name become true?
Do I become myself on days
without tenderness? Dragging my body
to your sacrificed future. Eating
intangible words, swallowing thought,
milking my last hour of sleep. No Ma,
I do not need grocery money.
I do not need
to hear you say I love
you. I do not need to tell
others why you have never seen
my school plays
but I’ll remember
how the following morning
you carefully cut pancakes with overworked
overbleached hands just for me.
I never told you
how embarrassed I was to be
alone and full. I do not need—
Ma, I wish we were
girls again. Do you remember
when we were girls together? A braid
of hair between our hands.
Lemon and lilac in the kitchen,
the exhausted A.C. in the heat of July,
when all things were hidden
unstoppable and good. Splinters
in my hands, I will build
your desires and imagination
plant lilies in the garden and never
leave your side. Ma, I will make you
a home with the shades drawn
and wood floors, exactly the way
you like, exactly the way you love.
