Oh, mama

Oh, mama, I do believe if you were here
we'd swing hips, wide and proud,
to the music that we share.
We'd compare notes on scars
and lovers
and babies.
We'd cry over the love we crave
and the love we've been given.

Oh, mama, we share a soul.
It split the day you died.
And here I am-
wondering what it'd feel like
to be known
and acknowledged
by my other half.

Oh, mama, to be fully accepted
with my quirks and shame and self-doubt
as God himself has tried.
Lord knows, He's tried.
But you are the hole.
The one.
The piece.
That vanished when your body was lain
and your half
of our one
left.