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
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.
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
Posted by kim at 9:25 AM