Christmas Mourning
I cuddle a porcelain jar within my bosom
My womanly soul yearns for your eyes
Tracing Christmas eves spent moon- gazing,
Your fingers busy plucking a violin
As we giggled, hummed through knolls of snow:
Had I known that on an exact hour
A crooked cane would roll away without notice--
Bent against the ice of heaven while faint stars
Temper your breath in haste... my own hymns
Would not have stopped their refrains...
But there is an open skyline which leads
Grandfathers like you to rest by their own will...
And I cry among rosy poinsettias
Gliding by the shore: It is near the 25th;
Your ashes spilling now on waves where you belong,
Mourning for all life's twinkles...
My frozen moment adrift ~
December 2018 Contest for Brian Strand
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