Today is the 200th post. My daily routine has changed and writing each and every morning has changed. There is no less need or desire, just priority.
What It Is
When K passed
She left the strong scent of
Potpourri and damp floorboards
Behind
She held on so long
It seemed
But two weeks of morphine
Pushes
The bedroom door sits closed
Place of anger, fear, departure
Purgatory for the living
Resistor
Potted plants shocked by her absence
New caretakers know nothing after all
Her song and theirs was one harmonious
Solo
What is known or not
The whys and what ifs
Serve the mind, but never the
Heart
Ask the chubby, low rider
Four legged who worried with her
Ask the grandchildren and the soil turned by
Hands
Never idling, but instead
Crocheting another hat
To give away, to keep me
Warm
What dreams we dream
For ourselves
Never imagining the end as it
Is
copyright 2012 SajaMaka Publishing
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