How many times have I almost dialed her number,
Stopping myself after I’ve started,
because she won’t be there.
I want to tell her about all of it,
of Alder’s first swimming,
his fights with his best friend,
the sudden changes and beautiful worlds he shows me.
I think of calling her when the new dish I’m cooking is wonderful,
and when it bombs.
I am selfish,
I understand, to want her here for me,
to keep her wisdom around as I walk into the role of mother.
My tie to any sort of wisdom has faded,
I look out over the rest of motherhood alone,
no one to walk with me as a guide
again I am a girl alone navigating a new part of being a woman.
Again I am reinventing this myself,
this time she is not there to save me.
Take me in when I am alone.
I can’t erase her numbers yet,
I let them sit in my phone
as a reminder of her voice
and of what she might say if I was to dial them,
the edge of her voice is still there when I don’t call
I can pretend for a moment that I am just choosing not to call
that she is in a meeting
or an appointment.
I have to trick myself to keep the tears away.
To keep myself from sobbing in front of my son,
though what I want to do is howl