The Inheritance of Song

Washing the dishes, I caught myself humming,

a tune that my mother sang, echoes still thrumming.

Her voice in the suds, it bubbles and swirls,

reflections of her in my laughter unfurls.

I find in my gestures, her patience, her grace,

the rhythm of life carved into my face.

In a world of our own, where memories blend,

I’m stitched into her, like fabric, no end.