By SaraGrace Griffin
To my mother
Who refuses to answer to “mom”
Because it’s too basic.
Who sends me Snapchats
Of my favorite tv shows,
A stick of cucumber deodorant
Still in front of my tv,
Late at night when she should sleep.
Who mails me hand-written letters every week
Along with gift cards from
Food Lion and Cracker Barrel and Dairy Queen
When she should save her money.
Who informs me of crises
That affect me and my friends
Gen-X in the Cape Fear River
Hurricane Irma updates
When I’m too numb to watch the news.
Who texts me good morning
And good night
And sometimes sends rolling puppy gifs
When I don’t respond.
Who constantly asks “Are you okay?”
On five different messaging services
When I’m busy or sick or empty.
Who cries every time
She can catch me on the phone.
Who begs me to come home
When there is a holiday.
I text you “lol”
When I actually do laugh out loud
At Shawn Spencer’s shenanigans
That illuminate my face
In the solitary darkness of my dorm.
I beg you not to send any more money
Or sneakily deposit it into my account
And say that you expect
Nothing in return.
I drink the contaminated water
After people who could unknowingly carry
Meningitis, my biggest fear.
I pay eleven cents more per gallon
Since I don’t fill up my tank before the storm
Like you told me to.
I don’t open your messages
Until I’m almost asleep
So I don’t have to respond
More than “goodnight love you too.”
I cry every time
I read your letters
And when I hang up
And after I leave you.
SaraGrace Griffin is a senior at the University of North Carolina Wilmington, double majoring in Creative Writing and Psychology in an attempt to comprehend their existence. They love traversing their native North Carolina backwoods and baby-talking to all dogs they encounter. Follow them on Twitter @born2blossom.