Monday, May 12, 2014

Monday Mournings

I wish I could write every day, or at least on some sort of a schedule.  But the inspiration's gotta hit, so I wait for it.  I silently acknowledged my grandmother's birthday last week (she would have been 108!) and Mother's Day yesterday, so maybe that's where this comes from.  Maybe it's just from sitting still and quiet for a few minutes, which I don't do often enough.  Regardless, here's some Monday night poetry.

"Monday Mournings"

In the room where my grandmother died,
the quiet and the still
are much like they were that morning
as I waited with her for them.
Tonight the piano keys were just silenced,
the ivories ringing true with
"Petite Minuet" and "Yankee Doodle;"
And I sit on the sofa remembering,
as in the other rooms, the water runs,
the toy guns fire, the TV blares.
Outside, the birds and the highway--
that part remains here still.
This is my room, my quiet, as the sun begins to set.
Shadows of days gone past appear,
but I smile, knowing I hear the same
things she heard as she took her final breaths.
And for that reason, she is with me still.

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