Untitled

                                                                




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 
               Rhymed?


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


Gone.  
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
Always.

Liar, Liar (Flash fiction for Terrible Minds)