I will tell you

(Of All Mammals, Elephants Have the Strongest Sense of Smell)

I will not tell you

I did not take 

the clothes to Goodwill

like you asked

I will not tell you

I unravel instead

every piece of clothing

rolled and bagged

evidence of the Montessori

training that taught

your once tiny hands

such tidy habits

I will not tell you

I lift each

to my face:

    first concert shirt

    fan girl apparel

    swag from school sports

each a sacrement

of who you have been

I will not tell you

I inhale your shirts

to receive

the blessing

of you

each one anoints me

with you

now so far away

in a city on a campus

in a building

in a room with

another mother's

daughter

I will not tell you

after the ten months

you mermaided

within the ocean

of my belly

I could not be

away from you

not for a moment

I will not tell you

I slept with you cocooned 

in the newly hollowed

curve of my body

breathing in your exhalation

as though I were your tree

I will not tell you

any of this or that

I am melancholy

I will not tell you

I am often lost

in your absence

I will not tell you

I wonder

if your scent

the ambered

aroma of home

--will vanish

*

I will not tell you

because I am

a mammal

in modern captivity

trained to leave wailing

babies in pastel cages

trained to celebrate

each contrived step

taken away 

trained to hand my young

to a conveyor belt

of strangers

to seek stickers and stars

to learn that worth 

is something earned

not your birthright

I will not tell you 

 because we 

are not elephants

living in clans

guided by matriarchs

to thrive

as ourselves

I will not tell you

I pace the house

nuzzling your shirt

like a lonely elephant

cow caged in a zoo

*

I will tell you 

instead

of the adventures

you will have

my mighty mermaid you

in the world's ocean

I will tell you 

instead

    I am here

    I am here

    I am here