Journal Entry, April 25, 2018

April 25, 2018 Of time Past- I cannot discard you (memory) no matter how far I push you away you come c r e e p i n g like a wild vine deep in the corridors of my mind you grow . . . I wish you would depart but NO- I am viewing you in technicolor like a movie well played . . . It is the death of my mother- her time has run out "call your family" said the doctor and I did- I called each one one who did not come- my nephew my sister said- "he is afraid of death" (who isn't) . . . he was a grown man not a child mother died - a sweet beloved bird f l u t t e r e d away quietly- just as she had lived her short life (I have held my thoughts to me . . .) When he was a small baby my mother purchased for HIM all his diapers, formula, food, toys and clothes she paid for the rent of an apartment she was the prime babysitter for years and years but HE could not come on the day of her D E A T H a grown man could not pay his respect I have never forgotten- never forgiven (maybe I should . . . ) and I can only talk about it in my journal n e v e r to my family- so I keep it inside of me to come creeping to make me angry again and again and again Outside birds are chirping and a gentle breeze blows perhaps a walk will make this memory depart or at least f a d e - (why am I weeping ?) __________________________ April 25, 2018 Poetry/Free Verse/Journal Entry, April 25, 2018 Copyright Protected, ID 18-1016-823-01 All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym. Entered in the contest Best Free Verse in April 2018 (not for a contest) sponsor, Laura Loo Second Place