Darcy Leech

It took until the end of her life for me to cherish each day with my mother the way I naturally did with my brother. At the end, I loved my mother simply, without request to do better in any way, or be more capable in any way. I simply loved that she was there, and she was my mother. I wish I did that more often in my life. I will do that more often in my life for those who are still here.

My mom__ smile is genuine,A lilac beamingIn the presence of her Sun.Indentions in the sand proveTime__ linear progression,Her hair yet unblighted,Carrying midnight__ consistency.Clear tracks fading as theMovement slips furtherIn the past.CheekbonesHigh, soft,In summer__ hue,Hopeful.Each step__ unknown impact,A future looking back.My father__ strength:One whoseLife is in his arms.Squinting past the camera,He rests upon a rockLike caramel corn half eaten,Just to the leftOf man-made concrete conventionDaylight__ eraserRemoving color to his right.Dustin sitsIn my father__ lap,Open mouth of a droolingBig mouth bass;Muscle toneOf a well exercisedJelly fish,He looks at meHalf aware;His wheelchairPerched at the edgeOf parking lot gravel graftedLike a scar on nature__ beach,Opening to the ironic splendorOf a bitter tasting lake.I took the picture.Age 11.Capturing the pinnacle arcOf a sonTo my lilacWhoOutlived him and weeps,Still.Their sky has staple holes __aybe that__ how theLightLeaked out.

I haven__ been able to pray with the same unquestioned simplicity of hope since Dustin passed. My childhood ended the day my brother died. The naive hope that a miracle would save him, that he would one day walk, that a disease was a blessing in my family _ that hope died with him.