those that have gone

flowers in black pot
photo by Sylvia

i’ve been remembering their favorite flowers
and how they laughed
and how they smelled
and how they loved
and grew angry
and were unbendable
and wonderfully flexible
and what they said
with heavy accents
and what they grew in their gardens
and the plums they picked from trees
and swiss chard from the dark earth
and how protected i felt in their embrace
and how i thought they would all live forever
and now i dream about them
and think about them
and miss them all with an ache in my trembling heart
that stretches out into infinity

26 thoughts on “those that have gone”

  1. Lately, I have become acutely aware of my own mother’s age — she is still strong and in good health, but there are aspects to this that I find startling. A stark reminder of time’s passage. Your poem and its connections are lovely.


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