Generic

She smelled of smoke, 
bourbon and Coty L’aimant, 
each redolent scent, even now, 
setting me on a futile trail 
of memory and wistfulness. 
she couldn’t cope with life or love 
or laundry or childish tantrums; 
stood on a ledge her entire life, 
waving off attempts to talk her in, 
discounting the love she required 
with utter desperation, refusing to 
believe herself worthy, 
angry that no one knew how 
to love her in the savage way 
she craved, leaving her to find 
her only dependable escape 
in chemical happiness 
and me searching 
for something 
I would never find 
and could not 
stop seeking.

Remembering Mother