The Loss

It's all the same.
Yet everything has changed so drastically.
And still, the need remains so unrelieved.
She named me her executor.
The henchman of a life that
she believed would never end.
The power of attorneys was extinct.
Winds blowing cold where August heat
once lent the summer's ending moist.
She never gave me any choice at all.
Her want, her will. She led, and so I followed.
Even as her mind was withering.
I felt it then, her great insanity.
Clinging to the standards of a past
too quickly dying. Denying that she
might be dying too. 'Twas then her anger,
stemming from the world-at-large,
grew greater than a love to carry through.
I tried so hard then, to appease her.
But all I did could never please her.
She died alone, to spite me, so it seems.
Just as she'd lived so long beyond
the borders all the doctors gave.
The storm was long. I rode it out.
She died, then long-lost relatives
were shouting in my ear.
Quite suddenly.
As if they'd ever really cared at all.
Executor.
To execute the will she once exuded.
Now it's gone. Body shrouded
by a bond of thinking gone too wrong.
Siblings bowing out again.
Betrayed by every tone of sympathy
that just ignited yet another storm
of grief too deep inside of me.
The hunting season opened up.
Authorities agreed to sup
upon the little that she left to us.
It's all the same.
Yet everything has changed so drastically.
And still, the need remains so unrelieved.
Love, oh love, the need of thee
is greater than the loss of all
her things...

? Michaelette ?

8/13/2004
Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .