Mama's Golden Pond Cried

Mama's Golden Pond Cried Mama loved to chew off the Golden Pond bone chew the fat of their autumn leaves, dressed in splendor, a scenic lake and cabin, her pseudo stage, of her new found barbies, smiling at her smile they did so minted the american dream, their lives golden. These. These pocketed keepsakes she kept next to the chip on her shoulder. Yet her music plays ill forgotten lore and simile of her family and children, scruffy unkempt dogs she never proud, she drummed over and over, her catch phrase. We watched the movie long ago, in her element, in her tempo, bated breath, tears falling and detached. Yet her music plays so content and spawning such a fondness in her heart, of them rowing a boat, aging, golden. Yet her music plays sadly in her heart of emptiness at home dying, lifeless grey eyes. Yet, so steely her song snow blind of her son sitting next to her in the darkening theater, her wintry chill, so indigenous, taking life hostage. Just my child her teeth chattering to piano keys playing, playing in her concerto dancing on golden pond... such a waste her lips mimed. Her keys. And mine sink low. ... Just my child she sat akimbo, in silhouette, tears I imagine, and her voice ... and her voice once icy then now a scar, a ghost, ... scruffy come here. connie pachecho 6/30/17