A Black Feather, A poison pen... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- recurring memory seven years ago this afternoon my mom went into that sleep that you don't wake up from. she joined my dad in that frame of reference where i can only speak of her in past-tense now except to state that she is not living i cried with her a week before she left while her mind was still sharp but fading, she would retreat into a half-sleep that grew longer as the day got closer i was cold as stone from that day until i had come from throwing that handful of loose earth over the casket... some days i miss her, some days i resent her, not for dying but for keeping so much of my childhood and my youth hostage to her naive fears for me. i think now andthen of the wooden owl i placed next to her and he family photo the wind blew cool that day, it was a warm breezy day today, almost summery but not hot or harsh 6:10 p.m. - 2002-10-18 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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