or did it have to wait with the rest of us
for the lack of another?
Did it carry her gently away
like a kitten in the maw
to a warm dark place,
or did it rip things from her body
the way wedding rings get torn
from the sky-blue fingers
of battlefield brisance?
I hate to think of her erasing
into nothing more than nothing more.
It would tickle her pink to know
that one crisp autumn afternoon
in the not too far away, a little boy,
having spent all of his Saturday playing
outside, rushes into his warm house,
grabs a shiny red apple, takes a bite
as juice leaks down his chin
from where the universe has allowed
a little bit of my mother to run.
Strong Verse - January 10, 2013