Mother’s Day

The Question

You never asked.
I always wondered.
But, I never asked.
It was our little secret.
The question unasked.
Little things that let me know that you knew.
But never asked.
The little hints here and there.
But the question remained unasked.
Hints just loud enough for my ears.
Oh, I always wondered about the question unasked.
Would our love survived.
If asked.
What would it have been like with the question asked?
What might have been if you asked?
What might have been if I asked?
But now is too late for you or me to ask.

~~~~

I wrote that poem the day my mother died, I always wondered if she knew about “Diana”. There were little things that hinted that she knew, I use to keep a stash of clothes hidden and it would disappear. One time I burnt a hole in an old blouse when a seed popped in the joint I was smoking and she asked me if I knew anything about it. However, she never said anything or asked me anything, it was the elephant in the room.

I wished that she was alive today to have seen me walk across the stage, what would she have thought? Would she have approved? The questions unasked haunt me today.