I still...

still cry over her.
Empty palms and rosebushes. 
The day she left 
I clipped all the flowers in my mother’s garden back
and left them to rot 
in a bucket
on our front porch, a weary welcome mat.
Spring reminds me of her fingers and how grass grows,
chilled, without her warm breath.


Anonymous said...

Stunning as always.

Sea Angels said...

oh so beautiful xxxx

Rick Forrestal said...

Beautiful post.

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