Mirrored Silence

Written by: Bernadette Langer

mornings are a mother’s mirror,
merciless in clarity
and hideous in reflection;

as I pass doors, now closed.
the patter of feet
resounding in nothing but echo;

the sun highlighting a calendar
casting shadows on beginnings,
while leaving endings, hanging
in terminal silence.

my bosom heaves, for it is dry;
arms aching
with the weight of emptiness;

hindsight tossing laughter,
cracking
the brittleness of solitude;

and memory is the pain borne
carried unwillingly  
and then interred
far too deeply within…