Six years ago today my mom died. It feels more vivid to me this year; I am not sure why. It's odd how you adjust eventually. At some point, and I know it took more than a year, I stopped thinking I would give her a call. Now such a thought crops up rarely. When it does, I almost feel happy -- that she still feels possible and real. Here's a poem I wrote two months after she died:
Thanksgiving
your veins ran to crimson
your bruises to mulberry
your skin to honey
before autumn even arrived
my eyes I could not lift
suspended
I was transfixed
upon the unexpected
passage of your seasons
so I drank your honey skin
warmed myself
at the bedside of your illumination
tenderly held
your stained and thinning hands
in September, thanksgiving was upon me
now winter is nearly here
but your autumn haunts me still
the hushed morning
a Saturday
when your last leaves blew away
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3 comments:
I read this a few days ago but the last line stuck in my head - such a powerful description of death. Thanks for sharing it.
and now I am crying.
I am welling up too. This is such a beautiful illustration of what you went through. It's often so hard to capture the emotions inside and put them out there in a way that one can feel. I felt this deeply.
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