I remember she wouldn't wake up
Her lips were a pale pink
her face ashen
Her chest had stilled, her heart stopped beating
And all I could think was
"This is Not my mother"
My mother wore T-Shirts and jeans
not white hospital gowns
She ate mac and cheese,
not microwaved mush.
My mother sang songs, and danced with me through our small apartment
She did NOT lay silent in hospital beds
This sick women, with glass bones and paper skin, was not my mother.
I remember when her heart stopped beating
Because mine shattered.
I remember when this mother impostor wouldn't wake up.
Because that was the day my life
broke.