Mom,
You always tell me
That people
Live forever on film.
Our mutual
Love of cinema
Is something
Exceedingly precious –
Consistently shaping
My worldview,
Continually
Providing solace,
And creating
Countless memories
Echoing
Beyond creation.
We share
A deep love of art –
Such fascination
With fiction,
Because fantasy
Means gauging experience
For us
And making it better.
It is the rubric by
Which we measure
The beauty of
Mortal narratives,
How we often
Strive for better
And aim to achieve
Like legends.
I always said
We are villains
Or heroes
Defending our purpose,
Action figures
In toy stores
For divinity
To open and use.
But you, mom –
You are immortal
To the people
Who feel your presence.
I am
Well beyond lucky.
I get the honor
of being your son.
There is no higher
Privilege
Than to hear your thoughts
Like whispers,
Believing
Your saddest stories
And fears of
Growing forgotten,
Bouncing off walls
Where daydreams
Are reflected off
Glowing TVs –
Gazing upon
Movie magic,
A type you wish
You had.
In fact,
What if I told you,
You were
That kind of magic,
Taking this time
To contemplate
The odds of
Mother and son?
Considering
Infinites variables,
The math which
Accounts for sharing,
One fated bond
Together
Only could Himself
Could bestow?
That’s how I swear
You and me
Are significant
Through mutual journeys
Revealing
Those answers waiting
Remaining blessed
Through hurt.
Your ripples
Scatter across
This pond of
Transient stories,
And to me
They are giant waves
In an ocean
You’ve given life.
How is that
Not eternal?
Remember now
You’re my star,
In our motion picture daydream
Tracing lines with lasting legacy,
A celebrity saint
Still walking
Her red carpet
Within these words.
Theaters outside
Go dark.
But the ones within
Stay lit,
As long as we’re willing
To savor
Those reels our time
Has shown.
I’ll always watch
What’s passed.
And I know you’ll
Be gazing back at me.
Heaven and Earth
So sacred,
Feature presentations
In-between.
The Instance and The Phrase 