a poem in my pocket

Mother died, age twenty-five

(of flu-asthma complication)

I, barely 16 months & weaned,

bereft.  of primal-love relation.

Passed fears of childhood years

(growing up with best-step brother)

when mom’s older sister said to me,

“you remind me of your mother.”

“Oh, tell me how, right now” I cried

breath-bated wait for answer

she smiled at me and said, ”I see

it’s plain-obvious in your manner,

Voice like hers & when you speak

your hands move just as hers had”

precious-treasure words I heard…

while mirror says I look like dad!

Kim is hosting inherited “body image” poetics prompt at dVerse Poets