Say Their Name

Yehudis Chava

by soul Judith Eve by law You had blue eyes With grayish tones That were darker blue around the iris and a nose that pinched at the end You would dye your hair red And keep it shoulder length (When you still had hair) Under your wig Which you kept glamorous Washed and set often Light brown waves With bangs I resented for covering your face You had weekday glasses And special occasion glasses but god, forgive me I don’t remember those as well Were they purple? Were they gold? You had skin that was soft And smooth And always smelled delicious You had lines on your neck That you were insecure about But I loved my mommy’s neck lines And look for them in my own I used to memorize every inch of your face When I knew I had to When time was running out I thought I’d burn holes into your face With how fiercely I gazed at it But two years later I still remember every pore, every curve, every hair You used to have me tweeze your hairs Our ritual we took very seriously Your nails I would paint My hair you would braid I remember every outfit every shoe every tichel Your favorite nail color: Big Apple Red by Essie Favorite ice cream flavor: Mint chocolate chip Favorite movie: Gone with the Wind Favorite quote from that movie: “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn” (Though you’d say darn instead) You pronounced soda as sodar Idea as idear You loved freshly squeezed orange juice, sometimes blended with ice You loved cake. Cheesecake. Shlishkes. Blintzes The foods you grew up and then raised us with You loved tv shows. This is Us. ER was your favorite When I was a kid, we’d watch it all together on Thursday nights with the smell of chicken soup cooking for Shabbos in the background You loved gossip but you hated fighting You never held a grudge, but you had a devilish grin reserved just for instigating. You loved getting free tote bags and blankets from Victoria Secret Even if you had to spend more than they were worth to redeem them You loved shopping For wallets, purses, shoes, clothes, makeup, But mainly gifts. For your kids, your grandkids My mom would quite literally give the food off her plate. My mother had a laugh that was breathless. My mother had a hoarse voice, after 40 years of teaching she must have lost it somewhere along the way Though it was quiet, she always had what to say. My mother’s quote was “think good and it will be good” My mother slept with a nightlight My mother loved bakeries My mother loved baking Cooking We were never allowed in her kitchen until she got sick My mother’s handwriting was illegible and recognizable She said it was because she was a “doctor’s daughter” My mother called her father daddy And her mother mommy And she loved them both My mother cleaned like no one else She unpacked immediately after arriving from a trip She’d never dare go to sleep with a dirty floor and would often be found at 2 am cleaning the house My mom loved reading magazines, even though she’d fall asleep right away Be careful if you tried to take it from her Or she’d wake up claiming “I was reading that” My mother would snuggle with me every night Sometimes she’d have to kick me out of her bed for keeping her awake And making her laugh My mother loved the students she taught like they were her own My mother was quirky My mother was truly optimistic. Positive. Faithful. My mother loved to travel, loved coming home more Countless texts reading “It’s good to be home!” I find myself trying to remember more But I block myself Because it’s the details that hurt the most But it’s also the details that keep you alive I remember the password to your Gmail account Which still exists Even though you don’t Tell me how that makes sense? I remember your smell; I pray that never leaves Because I can’t write that down for safekeeping I remember your voice. Your laugh, your hugs, your advice, your faith, your fingers. Your hands. I remember your hands more than I know my own. Mommy. Sometimes when I’m alone And it’s quiet I whisper into the air “ma?” I repeat it, a little louder, more urgent “Ma?” It’s always a question Never an answer Maybe I do it to remind me To remind the universe You did exist Maybe it’s to remember a word once so natural Now a forgotten language on my tongue