melissaahowells

522,014 poems read

437759

is it harder
more difficult to write
words about someone who's gone

the subject being long removed
the memory fading

how do I carry her with me
in a chambered heart beating
or in something
more mundane
like my pocket

wooden blocks
spell out her name
437759 on a silver disc
both dangling from a key chain

each time I open the door
she is next to the keys
often I stand mute at the entrance
in a twilight of wondering

in my brother's house
her captured ashes sit atop a roll top desk
ensnared within the circlet of an old worn tiara

once fair princess of the dairy
homecoming queen of the wary
dearest Mother to the most favored son

I stood by you
watched pieces of you
fly away and change
at times I was your stranger
at times your last best forgotten rival

ashes never arrived at the ocean
solemn property of the son
a sort of pretended patriarch deity
deny-er of the truth of death
destroyer of the evidence of your existence
your sacred diaries lie in the city dump

some days I wish I could call you
from the ether
open your dead green eyes

could we at least have
sensed our good-byes
some closure

now I only hold part of you
in my palm
a silvery disc
-437759

Copyright August 20, 2015
Melissa A Howells Meloo Tilt-a-World
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