morning after rain

 

I found a picture of my mother

when she wasn't. She was freckled in torn jean shorts

with the hints of how she laughs now

mixed with how she laughed back then, framing her face.

And I thought, I have only known her 

as my own. But she was galaxies 

before I ever happened,

she was worlds 

I have not known, only caught hints of 

in my sister, in old pictures, in the mirror round my face,

and in the ways she looks at me. Love, 

if I ever get to hold you, 

it will make me new. But how

will I accept the letting go of all that I became

before you?  I

will not. It will not be a loss. We are

continuous. I held you in my heart 

throughout forever. That won't stop 

when we appear to be beginning,

and neither, love, will I. No,

if I ever get to hold you, 

I will be just like my mother, 

shown more clearly, found not lost.

I'll be

like fireflies and stars on summer nights,

I'll be

just like the world the morning after rain,

my colors at their brightest,

my washed-clean leaves like sorghum gleaming

in your rain and sun.

Photocredit Neville Kingston, Pixabay