Imagined Reflections

Raina Fields

I

Remember to brush your teeth and say your prayers before bed.
Lying in the white twin bed, sheets pulled to my chin,
pretending to be asleep. Mommy is already gone.
I imagine her, a winged creature, floating slowly above my bed,
a shining halo above her ghost-like figure.

II

I think of her each time I hear an anecdote about
children crying from scraped knees.
She'd hoist me above her shoulders,
dress billowing in the air. Be careful.
I ignored her cautions and ran free from her protection.

III

In youth, I wished for responsibility and maturity,
although I pouted at punishments,
waiting for the chance to be on my own.
Those times are upon me now.
The encouraging words have gone with her presence.

IV

If I could hear her voice, the way
she would call my nickname, Sweet Pea,
my penchant for green vegetables and aging cartoons.
Maybe the love would stay with me.
I do not want to grow bitter,
but it is hard when you have been abandoned.

V

Holidays, food's glorious scents fill our home.
Them that's got shall get. Them that's not shall lose.¹
She whispered her song into the pot of cooking food.
Now Billie Holiday's voice hangs languidly in the air,
the tune rewritten by time.

VI

My heart aches for solace.
Each night I brush my teeth, but have ceased saying my prayers
to an imaginary creature who is unable to
return to my bedside.

 

¹ From “God Bless the Child,” made popular by Billie Holiday.