for louise bourgeois’ “maman”

dear mommy,

you are a tall, one-splenda latte, a 5'8 latte to be exact.

at 7 am, the sun is golden and seeps through the windows in a sheer cascade,

punctuated by the drifting dust of a Turkish rug.

you greet me with a hug, dancing and regaling daily tales of the dog,

and then proclaiming "i've already had my two cups of coffee" when I look at you like you’re crazy.

you guard your children with elephantine wisdom, the grace of a spider, and the fierceness of winter.

i know you were scared to leave me behind and

i know it broke your heart when you saw me in the bathtub,

but you are the brightness of morning and i've never seen you cry.