i’m in love with my mother

_{Photo by Kleigh Balugo}

By Emily Coppella

walk with her, all over her, beside her, 

i walk through her every day 

i (forget to) thank her. 

lurid memories 

i wring out 

again and again 

like 

how can i return these favours 

like 

how will we create the world when she’s gone 

crickets at night 

the scent of the sun 

(this is she) 

a dead, dry leaf, wanting to soak but 

instead float 

in pondwater 

(this is me) 

now: 

like maple seed, i twirl 

with both arms 

in the air. 

reaching different 

ways from the 

same centre. 

little seed 

little shell 

doing little spins 

as i try to 

talk about 

the unpredictable futures, 

the precariousness of the human race 

without sounding like an asshole 

at every party.