"I Already Buried My Mother"

I already buried my mother.
The one that wanted me, the one that kept me safe, the one that loved me most.
I already buried my mother- in rocks and rainbows and saxophoned Danny Boys.
I already buried the woman who would have walked through broken glass for miles carrying me and lain her body down to cover mine from attack.
I already buried the one who thought I was the prettiest and smartest and most talented-
who never criticized me or swore at me or left me alone with child rapists.
I already buried the woman who felt my fears and hungers and cold as if they were her own.
I buried the one who didn't complain about where she was sat for my father's funeral or tell me I should stop being so hysterical when he died or want the bedspread off of his wife's bed.
I already cleaned her blood off her white carpet and winced when some clueless person smashed her glasses into the stitches by her eye trying to hug her.
I already buried her son and her husband and her daughter. I polished all their treasures, their medals and degrees and letters and packed them away in boxes in my closet. I signed on all the dotted lines, I sent all the Crane's Stationary Thank You notes for all the condolences.
I polished her treasures and set them in a box in the closet.
Her husband's fraternity pin, the silver compact he gave her, all the photos and the books inscribed "To the family."
I buried the whole family that those books were inscribed to.
I put the jewels in the safety deposit box, the marriage and birth and death certificates in the safe.
I dry cleaned all the chenille suits and took them to the consignment store, I tried to find someone who would enjoy the vast collection of $300 size five narrow heel pumps.
I put her paintings on my walls and her keepsakes on my shelves.
I already buried my mother, after waiting in the hallway of the hospital where she was dying until midnight and taking the bus home in the rain- then coming back at 6 in the morning because she needed me.
I already filled out the death certificate and picked the second best casket for her to be cremated in.
I already buried the woman who never hit me, never slapped me, never spanked me, never told me to Fuck Off, never swore at me, never called me a bitch, never lied to me, never banged her head on the wall until there was a dent in the wall, never cut me down, never coerced me into hanging out with creepy dudes she met through the personals on the back of the Bay Guardian or the Muni bus. I buried the woman who always believed me if I was hurt, never told people things I didn't say about them.
I already buried the woman who loved me the most.
I already buried my mother.