A life should leave
deep tracks:
ruts where she
went out and back
to get the mail
or move the hose
around the yard;
where she used to
stand before the sink,
a worn-out place;
beneath her hand
the china knobs
rubbed down to
white pastilles;
the switch she
used to feel for
in the dark
almost erased.
Her things should
keep her marks.
The passage
of a life should show;
it should abrade.
And when life stops,
a certain space—
however small—
should be left scarred
by the grand and
damaging parade.
Things shouldn't
be so hard.
*
5 comments:
Beautiful poem, beautiful woman.
Poignant, powerful imagery.
Thank you for this post.
the other L
Thank you for this Lisa.
Love to you,
Patty
How honored that you thought of our mom...Thanks, Lisa!
I loved your mother, Martin. She made me feel so welcome. Thanks for sharing her.
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