forgetting to post thank you letters

she's wilting like a dying rose, just not dead yet,
not quite yet;
i don't want to be counting down days on fingers
- i never had piano hands like yours anyway -
i always swallowed my food hard in her presence.
but she's a mother and a lover who has
lived a life inside a tupperware box
NEVERBEENFREE
but now she
can't get out of bed on her own
can't shower without slipping and
breaking - so like that fragile soap dish
from the charity shop.
mother cried and held me this morning
and said they're taking her away;
she wanted to die at home.
cooked meals tasted like plastic
my socks stuck to kitchen laminate
house looked like christmas
but this year was her last and
i still haven't seen her