summer mother

i promised her cupcakes for her birthday,

then scared her half to death once august showed;

hospitals are no place to celebrate

a summer mother who abhors the cold.

instead of snuffing candles, she sang prayers.

i cannot recall saying "i love you,"

amidst catatonic silence and stares,

regardless, i am most certain she knew.

i lay in a gurney wishing for home

as my mother implored god to save me;

summers prior were spent splashing seafoam,

that august i was thrashing just to breathe.

i think she still holds her breath every night,

worried to find me, again, without mine.