Memoriam
Somehow, this chariot of demise prepares
for a long journey, away from the living:
pack the roses from tomb to womb
remove the thorns for gracious sake,
like arrows that pierce my lesioned heart
which cannot move on, raking
the orchards over her crown; a name
whispered in every fireplace she flamed.
*
From nowhere tonight, I hear her stir,
clinging to the fading voice of the hours;
as she bequeaths all moonglows I will inherit
until at last, her gasp succumbs to wispy bliss.
And I, a sighing child in denial must implore this:
“ Wake up, you've been in bed so long,
Mama, you should not be sleeping…”
~
'Happy Birthday, Mama; I Miss You: Sept 18'
Contest of Silent One: Poems that paint a picture 2
9/19/2017
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2017
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