I Cannot Remember My Mother
I cannot remember my mother,
but sometimes, in the midst of play,
a melody seems to hover above my toys:
a forgotten tune she once loved so dearly,
as she rocked the cradle.
I cannot remember my mother,
but sometimes, on an autumn dawn,
the scent of jasmine fills my room,
like the fragrance of morning offerings in the temple,
and it flows over me like my mother’s perfume.
I cannot remember my mother,
but still, sometimes from the bedroom window,
when I lift my eyes to the vast blue canopy of sky
and feel upon my face her calm gaze,
I sense her grace filling the heavens.
