I remember when my mother died
and I, an honest Catholic, cried
and, running barefoot along the path
that followed the canal , her laugh
was something that called out to me
though blind with impotent rage I see
with benefit of age, the memory
that haunts me still is of the tree
where I played as a child safe from harm
to come home at night to loving arms
that I could never touch again.
My tears hidden in the rain.
7 comments:
Oh my friend. How you've touched my heart with this.
Me too, a long dead mother and a catholic (lapsed), but hey, is one ever? Thanks for the poem.
I have not been blogging for long, so forgive the question: do you write poems daily?
Anything on greed/gluttony you've heard of? The poetry group awaits.
Forgive.
Hi Friko.
On this blog I write a poem and a picture daily, fiction on the other blogs.
I often write of deadly sins.
That's so sad and beautifully written Rachel
Thank you Gina
Oh! So beautiful. You have gifted the world with this.
How sweet of you to say!
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