Ghost town

Sometimes
I expect her to be standing
in the sun,
her nose white from a thick protective cream,
She is struggling
to carry a load of heavy grocery bags
Unwilling to accept help,
And she insists
So stubborn
to ignore an injured back,
An ache,
And always walking further
and further,
away from memory,
Into an eternal silence
beneath the cold stones
lay her bones,
becoming one with the earth
Where she struggled to grow
flowers in a balcony over run by cats,
Further and further fades her figure
as the sun sets pink towards violet
blue,
there
towards the horizon
walks away from me ,
My mother.

About seagullsea

a seagull flying over the great ocean of life observing.
This entry was posted in a letter to the stars, a stranger in paradise, Death and mourning, memories are made of this. Bookmark the permalink.

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