Writing

1. A hole

     Clawed hands do not care

     for mothers’ desperate cries,

     tattered sinew left

Stones sink into the ground

 The oldest beneath never to be found 

Coffins, urns, and empty spaces 

All lay still set in their places 

Only I move on this land 

I used to wake to blinding light 

When the sun would hug me tight 

Now I wake to haunted dreams 

Startled by songs of screams 

The moon and stars are hidden too 

When my mother died I got her ashes 

When my dog died I got his collar 

I hear my mother's voice 

I see her face 

I smell her cigarette 

soon she'll be alone

like the little girl before her

they'll leave

they'll change

and soon

she's alone.

that person thinks they're staying

I doubt they are

I don't blame the person

We’ve all lost something before

Whether an old sock or a stuffed dinosaur 

A broken guitar, a key to a home

A book from school or a brown hair comb

We realize, much too late, these things slipped away