My mother was a seamstress

old coats and blankets
worn and washed until
the seams gave way
and mended haphazardly
to make them last that extra while
in remembrance of she
who gifted one and cut
and sewed other

Nearby

Though buried and laid to rest
A knot forms heavy in my chest
To think a loved one passed away
When sometimes thoughts hide the way
And tell me they are here somehow
In that room, with lightened brow
To awaken with just my call
A sleep so shallow –
Her footfall.

To My Grandmother

My mother goes wandering, on this remembrance day
Where she alights or flies to, I’m not sure where she stays
I can only pray to her mother, for safekeeping and providence
For where can a mother go, but to her own mother for guidance.

Countdown

I bottle up scents
The  first night after
The  first fight and tears
First “I love you”s and “I hate you”s
The first fissures and poorly-made welds

I pickle parts
Of that living, breathing thing between us
Always on life-support
Knowing
Time runs out

Charming

How charming is
The posy in your pocket
The curl of auburn
Nestled in your locket
Your smiles at
Yellow daises and daffodils
By the meadow’s little rill
Which will run a hundred days
As long as your laughter plays
And promises
You’ll stay.

Cold Remembrance

Like faded flowers
Memories lose color
And grow brittle

Graceful Exits

In my mind I hold the many children
That were friends and foes.
Like Peter, never-changing
They remain.
The vestigial shadows of last year’s flowers —
If I were to find them today:
Only the smell of damp earth.