Sunday, April 29, 2012



I couldn't write you a rhyming poem, though I tried.
You flatly refused to fit into the meter
And the words didn't mesh at all.
So I gave up,
Without much surprise, really,
For who am I
     To say you were
          Meant to be 

And although I am uneasy with free verse
Because it is so wildly eccentric,
I am forced to admit
That it is perfect
For what I want
To say.
                                                                            up in my head
I do know that there are a few years of memories 
And I won't be letting go of them for awhile.
Laughter, always.
And some tears.  Well,
They couldn't be avoided.
You're my mother, my mentor,
My best friend.  Until you were

And me, with a Mom-shaped hole in my
Existence, waiting to see if the platitudes are accurate.
Time heals all wounds, I was told.
Another lie.  The wound remains, the edges
Cauterized yet gaping.  Grief doesn't

Resolve.  It has become an imaginary
Friend who is with me