My one burning wish -
I want not to fade away
like rotten lace, dumped
onto a trash heap and forgotten.
I want to leave myself behind,
for those who come after
to inhale during breakfast.
Not money, like my mother,
who judged it to be the only thing
of worth she had to leave behind,
as though her love meant nothing,
as though her virtue didn't count.
A nonpareil pattern of motherhood,
of personhood for that matter,
written in permanent script,
propagated in layers of goodness,
flung onto her progeny
with the glue of infinity.
As long as I live, so will she.
I want that,
when it's my turn to go.