mother

Whenever I squeeze my arm
I am flooded
with thoughts of my
mother.

How I would
snuggle beside her
after Kindergarten -
drifting asleep
holding her arm
so soft
so tender
between my little hands.

I knew
that as long as I squeezed
her arm

I would dream 

only pretty dreams

and wake up

to a happy sky. 

Tonight 

I lay alone in bed

squeezing my own arm
as my five-year-old heart
yearns
for her mother.