Beneath the Earth, My Mother Breathes by Olivia Salter | Poetry

Beneath the Earth, My Mother Breathes

by Olivia Salter

I find you where the violets bloom,
their purple faces kissed by light,
beneath the willow’s swaying arms—
your shadow dances out of sight.

The earth has swallowed what it can,
your hands, your laughter, silent now;
but still, your breath disturbs the wind,
a murmur stirring every bough.

Your touch returns in morning dew,
a ghostly chill upon my skin;
I feel you where the petals fall,
soft whispers beckoning me in.

I miss the scent of bread you baked,
that golden warmth, alive and sweet,
how summer evenings swelled with song
as you hummed barefoot in the heat.

And yet, I see you in the rain,
each drop a kiss upon the ground;
your voice a hymn beneath the storm,
a lullaby in thunder’s sound.

I call your name, and silence spreads,
the sky holds still, the air stands bare—
but in this garden, where you rest,
I feel you rise through roots and air.

Each blade of grass, each leaf, each vine,
each secret bud beneath my feet
reminds me death is just a door,
and through it, you remain complete.

Now, in the dusk, your presence hums,
the shadows lengthen with your breath;
no grave could hold the love you gave—
I see you even after death.