Monday, November 26, 2007

Tears In Glass

I remember well that cold flat gray

The outstretched arms of our silvery leaved elms

Heavy with a mist

Unseasonably clinging to roof tops

We sang out Olly Olly Over in voices

Thin yet, with childish glee

We on the teetering edge of outgrowing such games

Pretending enjoyment for now and sometimes concealment of such

I remember too well that day

Age has not dimmed my memory of mothers startled gasp

The fear sinking my eyes down to the tips of my curling toes

She reached out her hand to steady and perhaps soften the news of your death

Her hand smelling of the onion she was cutting for the soup that day

I could not cry

I could not cry

My grief was too deep for public viewing

Inside and alone I spoke your name to the mirror

Tracing an imaginary path in the glass across my cheek

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