She’s Gone

~ and then I remember
she’s gone,
and this
transient
train of happiness
speeds away from my station
(that is all live wires
and humming)
my head,
otherwise vacant,
reverberates
as the
memory of love
rolls
right out of the
town of me,
I take down the flags
and pack her
away

~ and then I remember
again,
and the wash of wasted moments
rushes my void,
drowning me in its
softly salted sorrow,
but how do you live
without
her;
your mother?
how do you dry your
tears
without her lavender
handkerchief,
rolled to a point and licked
for good measure?

There’s no
comfort
for this
yearning
there’s no respite
for this
ache
she’s gone
and taken with her
the flower-scented hugs
that made you
safe
when the world was not,
her touch—
so gentle—
the sparkles in her eyes;
they are gone

and somehow I am still
here,
although there are times
my breaths almost
stop
when I think of her smile, of
her fingers,
gnarled and painful,
in my mind I hug her
one last time,
I cling to her bones,
savour the warmth of her
love
on the top of my
head

~ but then I remember
she’s gone
and the picture of mother and
daughter
disappears,
taking with it her
love.
She’s gone
she’s gone . . .

until I look in the mirror

Author: chocotales

I am a writer who is passionate about words. I find them magical and seductive. I write short stories, poetry, and non fiction. I'm currently working on my first novel.

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