the idol

 
the idol

I want to remember you
cross country,
in the blackthorn,
in wrens,
the memorials
left upon benches,
to remember you
as the chemistry
of manganese oxide,
chocolate eyes
gifted to my daughter,
Greece and Gambia.
I want to study
your trauma
with an empathy
that allows others
to see you
as small as I see you,
to forgive you
without my wrecking
your image with truth.
I want to forgive
the way God forgives
or might,
if there was one
floating about
in the bright lagoon,
to sing prayer songs
that cleanse us both,
goosebumping on euphoria.
I want to be the sister
you never had,
to be a daughter,
a better daughter,
non-reliant on others
to step up to be a mother,
to help me accept the mother
I was born to,
to help me care for her
and crucially those who care
for the wake she left.
I want to not have to fight
to get through a week,
the functioning of functioning
an ache I cannot contain,
I want to know
how to balance it all
without breaking,
have someone
who is my backbone
when mine fails.
I want to remember you
as more than just a notion
but if I can't
I will go on erasing you,
all the while wanting
to kiss your feet
and hands
as a saint
as a gift
as a ghost
as an idol.