the stranger

now that she's a stranger,
you understand her better.
the core of her is gone,
but it's more clear now
than ever, of who your
mother was, at this age,
or when you were young.
she is without bitterness,
or sorrow. she just is.
soft in body and mind,
with a heart
finding time to keep
beating until it gives.
if you could, you'd give
her back her memories.
salvage something of her
life to make her smile
and say your name,
to know your face,
your voice.