I catch a soft murmur,
in my night hallucination;
placid words and articulation of Mom,
as if standing within my grasp.
I want this so much,
I hold no angst, no horror or panic;
my mind is ajar, and wildly staring,
toward a ghost,
a contour- a shadow familiar;
I so want my Mom.
My vision murmurs, calm and still my darling,
and I am falling, falling into a hush;
to grasp this soft murmur,
again, again and again . . . .
July 13, 2020
Copyright Protected,ID 20-1268-122-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the PREMIER contest, Lipogram
sponsor, Emile Pinet
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2020
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