At 4:56am I realize I sleep like my mother.
Turning to my side
I feel my knees bend and fold on each other
I feel my left arm cross over my neck
I feel my left hand land upon my pillow
and with bullet speed
memories of my mother
Her arms were painted with freckles,
shoulders to wrists,
a pointillism tan.
Veins like mountain ranges
rode the surface of her hands.
I followed them with my fingertips as a child
and turned her palm open
to find infinite life lines.
Do I rest my elbow over my eyes
because it fits so
because she did?
It's been four years.
I know I don't miss you enough.
I reduce grief to fit in my pocket to function.
Here I am
awake and aware
in morning darkness.
I counted your breaths on the last day.
You were just here
shaping how I sleep.