The Box
Once a year
I open it.
And read.
I wish I could
Read through
Everything.
But try as I might.
Through tears
I can't.
It is all
I have of her
Now.
Her letters
To her emigrant
Daughter.
Full of news
Of homeland
Of life
On the lost
Side of the
Altantic.
Advice, concern
And most of all
Love.
Through her dying
One small triumph:
Baking.
Her words caress
On papery
Bits and bobs.
“You write well,”
“You're a good mother.”
“I miss you.”
“Thanks for the clothes”
“Write to Daddy”
“Another operation.”
“Please come home.”
Reading this, I ache...
ReplyDeleteI'm going to call mine RIGHT NOW. she isn't getting any younger. i feel like i'm losing her even though she's still here.
ReplyDeleteWonderful!
ReplyDeleteThe comment from Purple Cow makes it all the more worthwhile.
I go through my mother's things every once in a while too, and it makes me both sad and happy. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and feelings and memories.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful words and thoughts, as always, WWW.
ReplyDeleteBe grateful.
ReplyDelete"Please come home."
ReplyDeleteEvery loving mother's plea. This made my heart ache for my own mother, long gone.
I wonder whether I'm weeping for you, for my mother, or for myself.
ReplyDelete