And that. I am sorry to you. For those things. In our past. The past. All of the yelling. And thrown words. Like glass. Through glass. I am sorry. For all of those things. In our past. The hitting. And kicking. And pushing. And pulling. I am sorry. Things did not work out so well. I am sorry. For your hell. I am sorry that I could not be a better daughter. Or person. Or soul. I am sorry that I could not have been a better daughter. I have thrown it all in your face. I have made you feel worthless. At times. And before those times. And after. And again and again. Yesterday I came upon the letters I wrote you. On and on. The sorry letters. Forgive me. O. My mother. Forgive me. For I am dying. As well. Inside my heart beats so slowly. So heavy. Down. Inside my stomach turns. And twists. And aches. Forgive me. For all the things I have done. Forgive me. For all the things I will do. O. O my mother. Your eyes now are dim. And lonely. You answer so softly now. Your words so hollow. And distant. And sad. Forgive me. For hurting. The tears keep coming. Like an endless rain. With no end. Near. The pain keeps stabbing. Like an endless blade. I am in pain. I am in pain. Misery. Is now my only name. So alone in this big bad world. So alone. In my heart. I am dying. As well. I remember the lower west side and moving. Up. I remember the welfare checks and the moving. Up. O yes. I remember it all. The times we spent talking. Speaking. Really. Truly. Lights getting cut off. Ice storms. Snuggling under heavy blankets. Wearing six sweaters. Laughing. I remember rolling cigarettes and drinking stale beer. And the times you got so drunk. And telling me you loved me. Again and again. Rolling my eyes. You yelling. I remember shiny like a new penny. And sweet dreams. And I’ll see you in the morning. O mother. The morning will never come. Not now. Not again. I remember the first of the month. And paying bills. And nachos with extra cheese. Getting away with it all. Because you loved me. I remember the stories about jail and bartending and living. O mother. I am hurting. With memories. Of better days. There is no more always. Or someday. Or tomorrows. Not for us. Not for you. I remember the poker games. And plastic Christmas trees. And broken legs on Halloween. The games. The movies. The things. We did. Tucking me in at night. Nursing me back to health. Bluegrass. Circus peanuts. Kentucky. I remember. Every little thing. And it kills. Soon. You will be gone. And my heart will break one last time. One. Last. Time. And I will be alone. No one. To fight with. Or for. I cannot help crying. And crying. And crying. Because my mother is dying. And dying. And dying. O. It breaks like thunder. It breaks like the tide coming in. It breaks like cement. It breaks. My heart. I cannot smile. I cannot. There is nothing here to see. Move along please. I am so very sad. It. Has. Come to the point. Of no return. And death now seems like. An inviting thing. To bring her. Peace. And my pain to. A settling point. For our goodbyes. And now there will be. No. more. Lies. Because the game has changed. and rearranged. And her fortune. Is my fortune and ill tested fate. And death will come. With a welcoming. Kiss. And show her towards the glowing. Exit. Where maybe. She will see. That life was what. It was meant to be. And her mother. Will greet her. With open arms. As I remain here. Lost. In the new way. Wanting back to the yesterday. And now it has become a waiting game. And. Nothing works. Like it used to. And nothing. Is what it used to. Be. Her eyes. Are empty. Now. And no light remains. Nothing here will stay. All things must change. And. Don’t forget to give up. And quit. There is no need. To move. On. Just stay close. And stay down by. Here. Where the trees grow so. Quickly. And die just the same. Ten years ago. And ten days ago are all we. Have left. Not her. Not my mother. Not my flesh. And bone. I am left. Here. Wondering where to move on. And wondering how to get. There from here. To there. Around. This growing crack in my life. This. Canyon of misery. And anger. This. Festering hell. Of complete. And absolute. Knowledge of life. And the after. And we wait. dfn.