At My Mothers Deathbed. Poem by Barbara Gentile

you once told me
I was less then dirt
I think i was 10
but you were just angry
and I was there.
you twice told me
It should have been me
and not my brother
I know what you meant
but you were just angry
and I was there.
so I tried to replace me
I didn't want to be there
with you/with me/in my head
so I enslaved myself
so you would love me too
like you loved your son
and as you lay dying
I am there
I lay next to you
on a cot
listening....
to you speak
out of your mind
into the darkness
I am there
listening...
to all you've suffered
listening...
to things i never knew
listening...
I understand
I am there
I reach out
to hold your frail hand
against my cheek
against my tears
Hoping/Praying
that you know
I am here.