I see my mother fondly now -
Since rude, uncivil visitors
who lived Inside our heads,
Have taken leave of sentences
And senses too of dread.
The fog of condescension lifts –
Once airing grief has lost its steam
Throughout the distant afternoons
Where reminiscence sits.
I like to think that Time won’t march -
For Mom has gone to her reward
To find her just desserts –
Like Autumn Woodland, Apie cake
And jitterbugs where nothing hurts.
I hope that other fractures heal.
As family ties have slipped their ‘nots’
And laces hang quite loose
Since eyelets squint into the past
And Hope has called a truce.
The embers of a kindred fire –
Once crackled, coughed, and flared with heat.
Some kindling may reignite
When brought to bear with timeless love
The faithful flames will outlive life.