Now Gone

What could be more simple
than remembering your own mother?
I know that memories
fade with time,
somehow,
I never imagined
that would include you
fading from mine.
I still remember
the sun in your hair.
I remember your steady voice
as you tucked me in at night.
I even recall your hands
as they worked on garden life.
But I can’t, for the life of me,
bring up the image of your face.
It’s been a long time,
but you were my mother.
Shouldn’t that mean something?
Shouldn’t that leave you unscathed?
Untouched
from time’s ravaging of memories?
I cling so desperately
to these fragments I hold,
but the tighter I cling
the easier it all slips away.

Prompt: Clinging to a Memory

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