Nguyet Mai

Mother, 

I don’t write about you enough. 

Today I wonder why. 

Perhaps, you are so quintessential

to my existence that I

overlook your presence.

Your presence is like 

the oxygen that I breathe, 

the delicious meal that I eat, 

the warm bed that I sleep in. 

All things I cherish, 

but often don’t think about

until their gone.