on the first day of spring
my mother died
she had always loved flowers
and had turned
our interior hallway
into a luscious greenhouse
father was not always happy
about the falling leaves
in her later years
when skiing was no longer hers
she hated winters
their long nights
their waning sun
she was always longing
for spring
waiting for the day
the morning sun lit up
the kitchen desk again
in her parents’ house
where she was born
and had grown old
the night before
I had called and told her
that here in the south
the first flowers were already
dotting the gardens
she had smiled on the phone
almost inaudibly
speaking had become difficult
maybe her last images
were of colorful spring meadows
today at 7.10 a.m.
my mother died
spring has come
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 4:42 PM UTC
on the first day of spring
my mother died
she had always loved flowers
and had turned
our interior hallway
into a luscious greenhouse
father was not always happy
about the falling leaves
in her later years
when skiing was no longer hers
she hated winters
their long nights
their waning sun
she was always longing
for spring
waiting for the day
the morning sun lit up
the kitchen desk again
in her parents’ house
where she was born
and had grown old
the night before
I had called and told her
that here in the south
the first flowers were already
dotting the gardens
she had smiled on the phone
almost inaudibly
speaking had become difficult
maybe her last images
were of colorful spring meadows
today at 7.10 a.m.
my mother died
spring has come
