January 7, 2012 Sunday Whirl/ Wordle #38

Sunday Whirl Wordle #38


 Mother

My hands grope

Lost among thousands

Not forgotten

Yet to remember

Causes a shearing

Pain in my chest

You come to me

Slowly bubbling up

From the darkest hiding place

I watch

You breathing for the last time

In the little house

With the thatched roof

The fire in the hearth

Cold

A gate opened

Together on the thrshold

Your path new

I was left to rebuild

Still your love fluttering around me

In a flash

I discovered the stones

You had dropped

Marking the way home

You are Mother

12 thoughts on “January 7, 2012 Sunday Whirl/ Wordle #38

  1. This is so beautiful Annell. I think your mother’s love will flutter a long time and guide you as you walk your own path. I think of you on this journey!

  2. My mother is 83 and beginning to grow frail around the edges. I dread the day she is no longer here, and love your words. I wrote something similar/different when my dad died, about how it felt, despite the pain, as if he were [and is] right over my shoulder.

    The poem has great sadness, but also great joy, when the stones marking the path are discovered. Heartfelt and lovely, annell.

    margo

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