A certain crinkle of her nose.
A laugh which stair-steps
an entire octave.
The roundness of her mouth
and the resolute stubbornness of
her chin.
The way she would eat an entire
bag or red licorice before
she had me pay for it at
the Target checkout counter.
How there were little villages of
cat angels and small porcelain animals,
menageries changing with each passing
season or holiday.
How she surrounded herself with pieces
of furniture large and small made of
natural wood. She was at home among all
the pine, beech, oak, maple, beech, cherry,
a wise Mother bird perched among her trees.
And how she managed to keep family together
by grouping all of their photographs on one
pristine ivory wall
much long after they'd all ceased
to be family.
This is my list which has grown
with each new day marking
her passing.
Copyright May 2008 Writing Assignment during writing class prompt
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Melissa A. Howells Meloo Tilt-a-World
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