~
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.