I wrote this poem around the time my mother died, ten years ago today.
For Mom (Untitled)
How the world has changed since that storm when your spring air became solid, like earth and summer never came
The light is different on this side trees speak and flowers stare and faces are not faces A lilac stirs, showering petals dead-blossom snow outside your window where a robin waits for you
But this storm, this season will pass and there will be your voice in the wind soft over the velvet summer fields like liquid through the burnt, autumn wood then with snow, a drift against cape-gray shingles
And when the lilac breathes life into your spring the robin will sing for you outside your summer window
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