Letters to my Mother

between every word, every sentence
hangs a wish; the mark of pen on paper,
marks of love disguised as letters,
each "a" aspiring to articulate a yearning
for the "c" of connection long ruptured
in my empty room when she came home
from work in the season of leaves falling from trees,
my suitcase gone, only a pen on a pad of paper
good-bye.
now, a new pad, a new pen pressing against it,
each letter full of letters, a wish for connection
hanging off every word, single sentences
singing for her.