11
02
2008
we’re not used to it….
being seemingly animate things
that shine on after we’re gone
like a toppled buddha.
There was a time we thought
mom would live forever because
of her hard work at making people happy
in her vivid and lucid dreams she
attempted to fulfill.
But alas, the house is empty
no longer yielding to her touch,
as faceless fear crept around her circle
when banging doors stirred the dust
from the hourglass, broken, sand
trapped in a shadowed box of iniquity
smelling like old rain,
warm in the sunlight.
ronrusso 2008
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Oh, a most difficult change. Lovely words…
Ah, a lovely and poignant piece - thank you!
A delicate subject handled well.