~

as pages turn 
his memory greets her... 
the filtered light 
of saddened beauty, 
yet, without would be 
but crushing darkness,
his footsteps welcome, 
an entrance crossing 
lightly o’er the 
threshold of her mind; 
his visits she could 
not bear to miss. 
and though it wets 
her cheeks with weeping, 
though it fills 
her pail of tears
from sorrow’s ever 
deepening abyss,
this, her rose of hope 
its beauty precious
its fragrance borne 
on petals crushed.
each page she turns 
his memory greets her
with each his visit 
she prolongs;
and moments sweet 
she dare not rush;
dispels her darkness
when nights are long.

~


*post script.

he visits on pages that fill her life... 

the photo albums,
the turning calendar, 
books that bear his footnotes... 
cards and letters beginning with the words, “Dear Mom...”

ever so slowly, she is learning to welcome, 
even find comfort, in his visits
among the pages.