Mama's Golden Pond Cried
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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
Copyright © Connie Pachecho | Year Posted 2017
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