These streets
are not just roads;
they hold our stories, and
embedded within them are our
poems

Chain smoking sadness, slapped by time.
Winter doesn't freeze the pain.
There was one thing that
Mom wanted desperately:
It was to have a
picture of her
seven kids all together,
in one place,
at one time.
There was an age
difference of 23 years between the
youngest and the oldest,
and 1000 miles separating us.

In December of 1987
two weeks before Christmas,
I held a picture of
the seven of us all together.
I put it in the
right front pocket of
her navy blue blazer.
After the funeral,
we buried her with it.
Oh, Mom, I wish we
could have done this
when you were alive.

What made
us so beautiful
Is that we
were never
likely to happen,
And here we are;
Pretending
to be oblivious
To the obvious
love waves
Bouncing back
and forth
Between
our hearts
This thing
Is a never
ending start...
Where the moments
we are meant to share,
Are carelessly
forced apart.

I have the idea that if I write about you
like I have nothing else to write about,

the universe will bring us one step closer

All those yesterday's are my tomorrow,
A dawn of memories run astray;
Nostalgia's spell from which I borrow,
The dusk and embers of our ways.

Tom Lefort