I have another little house in back
A kinda smallish, white brick place
On a smallish flat hill with front facing
A small, greenish, kinda deep pond

Where I hang all the time in thought
Big piece of my kinda smallish heart
Built first for our loved sweet Mamau
Before us leaving her ashes in winds

In the small pasture, across the way
Surrounding, and beyond green pond
Bucks, does, mares, squirrels, foals
Scamper away, a big part of each day

None live there in long roots, you see
Coming, going, only by arrangement
I keep the place up, ***** and span
Decorating so as she would much like

Lots of lace in doilies, edges, or such
Victorian era mostly, in all very much
People, families, kids all come and go
But when none are staying night over

Then I'll often sit the porch awhile
Watching dragonflies fly and such
Then when the evening sun turns late
I'll stiffly rise to ring the front doorbell

Knowing she would, but can't answer
And I'll go on past threshold, till then
Hollering out, in loud, to ring the clear
"Ma, I'm home, again"

To eat some good gnocchi or such
And take a bit of rest, from the wife
Sorry, I meant of course, a rest
From this rough, tumbling, hard life

©  2017 Jim Davis

The basin drains her polluted blood as wine envelopes morose
Every minute is a memory, onset of her blanketed comatose
Vying in a fog of icons and myths, words always fail them
From every misread evil that is disposed of improperly
From every neighbor or friend eternally mute again
From every gilded pattern that leaves a cuff for the eyes
From every fetching barroom, where all such nadir lies

there's a lot more
to being dead i suppose
when there was going to be
two dents in the bed
but there's only me in it tonight
weight.