2.4.13

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.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Stunning as always.

Sea Angels said...

oh so beautiful xxxx

Rick Forrestal said...

Beautiful post.

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