August 06

A poem for mother who died on August 06

one August 6th
(before my birth and after yours)
a mushroom cloud changed
the earth and never
again were sunny
days or clouds quite so
innocent

Years before that August 
day burst its atoms
spray, creating clouds
creating nightmares,
you took your first breath,
your first small step, spoke
your first soft words

And one August 6th, years
after the light of
Hiroshima, did
you hold me with wonder
and with mother's love
stare at my dark hair
so like your own?

On that day, this day,
this August 6, you take
your final breath, then
let it rush a closing sigh
back to the bed where
you no longer dwell.

Dear mother, I could not
spend, on that day, enough
minutes by your side or
hold long enough or stroke
gently enough the gnarled
fingers that knit my sweaters,
my socks, my dolls' clothing,
the blanket on my baby's bed,
that knit with loving strands
patterns so incredibly unique
they are the enduring strength
that permeate my living.