WINNING POEM

Dear Mijo (Dear Son):
You were an angel in my hands,
but I must have dropped you somewhere
between zero and eighteen,
when your smile turned sad
and you spent more time
underneath your earphones and your covers,
and I had to take a fourth shift at Friendly’s
just to make sure you could buy
tomorrow’s lunch.

Somewhere
between zero and eighteen,
when you learned how to read,
how to ride a bike, how to drive,
and I kept my phone on while working,
but you never called. College came
knocking on the front door, but
you turned it away in favor of
a road trip with your rock band friends.
I didn’t like it. You didn’t like me.

After eighteen years, we parted
like waves who did not know
which side of the moon we faced,
nor did we know if we were strangers
or rather acquaintances. I still
kept my phone on while working, but you
never called. Maybe you didn’t know.
I said it every night when I had you,
then I lost you somewhere in the sea.
I love you, Mijo.
Your Mami