Tonight the smell of Russian Olive Trees
Scents the soft night air
Heavy, heady, like a strong perfume
It hangs its sweet aroma
For a week or two every June,
Crickets chirp loudly all around
Flowing in on the gentle breeze,
I find myself missing her more this night,
Though nothing tells me why,
Except that summer was a time
I associate more with her,
With her mothering and presence,
Summer evenings at the beach,
When the sun went down
And the moon came up,
When I was a little girl
She’d walk with me by the water,
Or let me swim with her,
We’d sit on the warm rocks
And dry off, waiting for the tide to change,
The sand, so hot in the noonday sun
In the evening was just warm
As we ate our dinner
On a towel tablecloth and paper dishes,
I still see the moonlight
Glittering its silver path
Across the black water,
I hear the splash of little waves
And though I still hear her happy voice,
I fear my memory of it might fade,
So I clutch my summer mother
Young, wearing her straw hat
Fiercely to my heart tonight,
Imprinting all I can of then,
As if reaching back in time,
Stalking the memory of every sense,
Might soften the loss in now.

Yesterday was Mother’s Day. My mother died in April of 2006. I wrote a series of poems around her death, and this is one of my favorites. Though our relationship was often adversarial, there are times when I truly miss her presence. Feel free to let me know what you think. Thanks.