The Widowed Child - 6/20

what child was she
so many years ago past
her bright, eager eyes
open to each new day
and every single task

her innocence lost
dashed all away
before she'd left
the cradle of childhood

no doubt she wept
bitter, fruitless tears
and yet she labored on
each moment
bringing bits of wisdom
to her ever open eyes

oh! - the sacrafice
when her strong fingers
worked to the proverbial bone
no longer wreaked of youth
she'd sit and ponder
her lot and curse it all
to a deep, dark burning hell

On Aging - 6/20

The sons cry without abashment
for the mother they adore
lost somewhere
there - among the shadows
of the past etched
so painstakingly -
there - she is hiding
beyond the realm
of popular reality
she leaps out
sometimes
witty and heroic as ever
the sons grasp at hope
momentarily
before she tiptoes
back from whence she came

Birthday - 6/20

Hours slip by my sweaty palms
I watch them go
and I plead with them
to come back
I haven't made the best of them
I am sure
For all my years of living
I haven't much to show for it
only a couple of
invisible scars

Dirty Room - 6/5

all my worldly possessions
lay as if a tempest tossed
battered and bruised
the things held most dear
long ago and far away
tormented and abused
what callous heart
has turned against these treasures
what cruel twist of fate
has left the once cherished defeated
the guilt falls squarely upon my shoulders
for once I lost my life's companion
I let all else fall to rot

Grandmother - 6/5

an old woman sits alone
in her highback rocking chair
her frail body moves in time
beneath soft yellow light
from above
she sits and thinks
of the years come and gone
of the eager faces and noisy streets
and fresh apple pies and towering trees
of parties and ice cream
of latin and french and love
then the light catches her eye
and reminds her of
an old woman who sits alone