She Pours In

Physics says energy can neither be created nor destroyed. I believe my mother follows the same rules. She is lost to me in body, but I find her spirit inhabiting those around me. I am grateful for her kindness when it is given to me. I appreciate her gentleness when someone treats me gently. I admire her courage when I watch others be courageous. She is everywhere when I allow myself to see her. When I open myself to her, she pours in. My mother grants me an audience every time I catch my reflection. She escapes through my eyes their shade reminiscent of the magnolia trees she planted. Her laughter hibernates in my throat, dormant until someone clever entertains her. She leaks from my fingertips. A tap of wisdom I welcome to overflow on my page. The words she mispronounced in my presence, I butcher with a new audience. During her passing, she molded me, shaping me into her earthly vessel. I am her legacy. The incarnation of her life’s work. Her representative to life.