Les Mémoires

In her old age
She had a cat,
Comfort against her aching hips,
Bruised by long walks
On the beach.

She strolled, according to a neighbor,
To drain herself of two memories,

Her seven year old child
Pinned against an oak tree
When a car veered onto the sidewalk,
A drunk driver still celebrating
His birthday party.

A husband drifting away
In a hospice room,
Whispering a last kiss,
A familiar rattle
In a night’s dream
On their honeymoon
In the Catskills.

Loss, what is it really?
Something gone?
An object on a treadmill
Receding in a rear-view mirror,
The blue-shadowed mountains,
Like once-willing breasts
Deciding not to stay,
Or an attic crèche
Carried down the stairs
Every Christmas,
Made of the same wood
Standing firm
On the hills of Golgotha?


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