What Ditas Left Poem by Justine Camacho Tajonera

My mother left bangles
in her jewelry box,
poems that my father
can no longer find,
paintings of birds breaking
free from cages and
umbrellas catching
raindrops.

She painted me
looking over a butterfly-
sleeve and my brother
in blue and orange
with a look of awe.

My mother left me
a little trail of things:
pictures of her
beautiful, wide-eyed
saying 'wow'
over and over,
a gold pendant,
a set of books etched
all over with her analysis
of characters,
bright, bold declarations
as thought I would debate
with her over time.
I recognize my own writing
in her staccato style.

Sometimes when I read
what she scrawled at the
back of her photo album
I cry:
Life is full of sound and
fury, yes.
But full of significance
too. Just you wait and
see, just you wait and
see, just you want and
see

only three
years with
you, Mommy.

I have a hand-
ful of gifts now,
things you never
thought
would mean so much.

You left me
your eyes,
your wonder,
you left me
my name.