Phone goes quiet
The table is set for one, or maybe two,But the largest chair is empty, Mom, and so are you—My siblings, who shared the same breath and bone,Have left me to navigate this house alone.The phone does not ring with their familiar names,The loss has changed us, playing cruel games.I am reaching out into a silent room,Grieving you, Mom, and our severed bloom.
First went the foundation, the roof, the light,When you left us that quiet winter night.But the walls crumbled too, in the days that followed,By indifference and silence, my heart is swallowed.They are strangers now, wrapped in their own pain,Leaving me standing alone in the rain.It’s not just you I miss, in this broken view,But the siblings I lost, when I lost you.
Mom passed away,And the world turned gray.You were my brother/sister,Now I barely know you.Silent texts,Empty streets,A family torn,Where silence repeats.I am holding the memories,While you hold your breath,Leaving me alone,In the shadow of death.
The limb has fallen from my family tree". the phone as a silent weight, or calling and having no one pick up. grief, where everyone takes their share and disappears.
The family home feels haunted not just by mom, but by the siblings who are physically alive but emotionally gone.
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