Dear Mom,

1.
I put down my roots
in the shadow of your whim.
     (You have no idea what your silence does
     to my growth potential.)
I live for the moment when the wind will push some of your light in my direction.
     I live for it like a desert lives for dew.
I am encrusted here, a barnacle on your whale bones.
     My seashell ears ring with your expression:
your eyes are perfectly poised, and I can't wait you out.

2.
I count the grains of glass
that go into the words.
     They still seem inadequate, but
my footprint on the shore is surer now.
     The waves will beat me crazily—
     the sky will scream—
     the earth will lurch under me, but
I will wear your voice over my throat,
     like a crown over my eyes, and
you can't imagine the difference it makes.
     (Are you scared?)

3.
(I'll be a coral,
your coral on the current.)