I yearned

seeing myself  inside your arms

when I turned eighteen

and unwrapping the boxes

of your gifts.

The echoes

of your mathematical litanies

seem to flank my room

by 5:00 of Tuesday and Thursday mornings

to solve x-y = (x+y) (x-y).

I crave to see

how your eyebrows seem to raise at me

when the coleslaw

you told me to mix,

tasted very sour.

Indeed, it was.

just as I thought when I realized

you frown.

I just wished

I’d made you proud even for once

by making a perfect combination of melon salsa

but I was then your prodigy

when I poured into the ingredients

a full cup of unsalted peanuts

and a tablespoon full of salt.

For now I miss the counting

of rosary beads

of the Glorious mystery

during Sunday nights

as we knelt side by side

at your altar

asking fervently from the Guy above

to keep you

until my lifetime mornings

to collect your smiles and frowns

and to feel you hugs

every time

I wake up.