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

some days.