My Mother's Cloak

My mother gave me many things.
Paintings she had made herself;
The dress she wore to her wedding;
The earrings that were her grandmother's.

One day she came to me with a heavy box
And laid it at my feet.
Like a child on Christmas again,
I tore the package open with fumbling hands.

Inside was all of her anxiety,
Her worry, her depression, her fear.
Things she never meant to give me,
But the pharmacist gave her
A big bottle of pills that left no room for them,
And by God, they had to go somewhere.

So I took it all out and wore it
Over my shoulders like a cloak,
Damp and heavy and making it hard to breathe.
The dampness soaked into my skin
And the cloak fused into me, part of me,
Visible only to those who got close enough to see.

I wear it still, not because it was my mother's,
But because now it is mine.