Flemish Grama
what to do with the grand mother
just a picture to me in an heavy frame
I never met her
she died before I was born
emptying my life
I look at her and try to find myself
buried in morocco she hardly spoke french
her husband gone a year earlier
they wait for the next grave to be filled
and no luck as it will never happen
as disperse my mother the atheist made sure the missionary
from my father side visiting africa never to wear the cross
just memories in a box
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
