comes upon me suddenly these days.
A surge of grief too deep to help me pray.
A sob arising in my throat.
I let it go before I take it in.
An errant pain, remembering.
A lost and lone meandering.
Yet still, a feel of love is in the air.
The child inside grown cold and lonely now.
A mother dies, she goes back on her vows.
From mother to child.
The weight of the fall.
Youth unspent within its blind recall.
The pain and the pity, like lovers,
held hands. Belying the strength
of the earth through her strands
of succession. Woven tighter
than a spider's web. A feel of might
that tilts within the head. Even as
the fright and dread are finally
left for dead. It seemed like such
a simple, simple thing. The passing
over of her soul to bring an everlasting
flight to her. But somewhere in her
withering, a light began to burn within
the shadows of her fear. As if the angel
drawing near had brought its great
accomplice in. The dark side of
the light that dimmed what little joy
her soul had ever found. And she
was bound by the betrayal of her flesh.
Melting into chasms left too long,
too deep, too intermeshed, to tell.
Despair became her window
to a world no longer loving her.
She fought the thought, but lost.
For that reality kept breaking in.
The one where all her children sinned
by never being there with her at all.
All but one small child that grew,
infected by the truths she never knew.
One touch of love before she left.
One moment of love's sweet caress.
It comes upon me suddenly these days.
A surge of grief too deep to keep at bay.
Sounding out an utter resignation to
the nature of the life we undertake.
Seeking out and holding dear
each memory experienced
beyond the pall of fear...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .