You showed me her grave,
The angel statue adorning it
And how neatly you keep
The grass trimmed and
The weeds at bay…
You showed me your mother,
Father, aunts, uncles, ancestors
And how important it was
To her, for you, to honor
Their graves … together.
I cried that day in the cemetery
And tried not to let you see
The excruciating pain of
Knowing that for you,
It will never be the same.
I cried that day
For what I had always wanted,
But didn‘t have…
For how much I love you
And how much you love her.
You asked me if I do the same
With a look that told me
You already knew the answer
And couldn’t understand why.
I explained how my mother
Always tended to the graves
And how important it was
To her …
As if that made all the difference.
You took me to church
That same weekend
And I prayed the familiar prayers,
Sang the familiar songs
Like I’d never left.
I felt both like I was back home
And like an imposter
In the midst of small town stares…
In the afterglow of last night.
You left me in the pew,
In the fish bowl ,
While you seated your flock,
Carried the gifts, held the chalice.
And I felt exploited, uncared for
Wondering just who is the imposter
And if you had ever done that
To her?
Mary:
Wow! Skillfully written; the layers of emotion are peeled back with each stanza until the raw nerve is exposed at the end. Well done.
Joe
PS: Great to see you posting here again.
Mary, I always marvel at those writers like yourself who can touch a personal channel of feeling that lets the reader into their world, if only for a moment. Beautifully written, I'm glad you shared these with us.
Les
Oh thanks, Les. It's feast or famine. I either can't put one word down or I'm spilling my guts out. I sometimes wish it was somewhere in the middle.
Thanks again.
Mary
Unfortunately, I can go months without writing, but I do read constantly.
Les