Orphan

some days I hardly remember my mama is dead
or that my father followed her into
the shadowy corridors three years later; 
honestly, some days I forget
that I can't just pick up a phone
and call and hear her sobered
tones, her dry wit, her deadpan funny
and the way she never gave me
unsolicited advice, the way she listened
to me and hoped for me and wanted for me
without making me feel too guilty
about any of her wants or hopes

not that we had a perfect relationship;
we didn't, or at least there were
unsolved problems and unresolved issues
that come up for every mother-daughter
dyad, or at least among my friends
there doesn't seem to be any way
to escape the push-me/pull-me
of womb and cut umbilical cord

but I miss my mom; today
I am so aware that I am an orphan
that at 54 (nearly so) there is no
one whose DNA brought me forward
to remind me of my little self,
my younger stumbling self
to tell me that it turned out alright then
even though I was foolish and thought I knew
what should be, but no, I didn't
but still, I survived it

I don't think I'm supposed to be
an orphan at 54 (nearly so)

I think it's a cruel hoax on the generation
of DNA sons and nieces and nephews behind me
that I am the only generation before them, the elder
that there are no DNA grand aunts or uncles
to retell stories about my mom or my dad
to repeat their foolishness to loud cackles
of laughter, to head thrown back
embarrassing stories told over macaroni cheese
collard greens picked from the garden out back
and fried chicken--always fried until my mama
decided when she was 50 that she would bake
most of her chicken and fish, and that anything
fried was a concession to nostalgia, not health

but that's why I miss her
for those kinds of decisions, for choosing baking
over frying even though right this moment
I am orphaned of her fried chicken and fried green tomatoes
and field peas not overcooked and cornbread
and her prayers to cover the food
and her children and the world and the way
her prayers showed up in the way she lived

I am too young to be an orphan, to be next
and I miss my mom today.

©  Valerie Bridgeman
January 12, 2013
[definitely a draft]