"Mom… I still hear you…"

Mom, I still smell the dish you used to make,

the spices stay, but the taste feels fake.

Mom, the garden grows,

but it’s not the same,

every flower whispers your

name.

The TV plays the shows you loved,

but the room is quiet,

the sound is enough.

Your picture smiles from the painted wall,

but without your voice,

it means nothing at all.

Mom, I see my friends with their mothers near,

and I stand alone with my grief and fear.

No one asks me how I am,

no one says, “Did you eat,

my man?” No one asks,

“How’s your work today?”

Mom, your words are gone,

but they still replay.

Mom, every smile in this house is yours,

Mom, every shadow reminds me more.

I walk these rooms,

I breathe this air,

but I can’t escape the fact you’re not there.

God… how do I move on?

I want to hold Mom’s hand one more time,

to whisper, “You are the best Mom.” Please… let her appear just

once again,

before I learn to face this life alone.

(ohhh please)

"Mom…

I still hear you…" (shhh)