The Ninth Spoke To Me
Mama taught me to remember the celebrations
The ninth spoke to me
Remember me
Remember him, who sits alone
with his purple urn
Her ashes, not the same
The clinks and cheers,
a shame
Her lips would sip from his glass
He’d plant a kiss
The honor, we miss
Now, near her frame, her smile inhabits
the room, but mama’s presence
is ash, contained
Wedded bliss so missed
1/12/2022
Copyright © Kim Rodrigues | Year Posted 2023
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