Praying ShrewA Poem by Homeschool
A son pays his respects, but the void remains.
Moss grows on the wrong side
Of the hill where Mother was buried,
As grey skies press against my shoulder,
Making each step harder than the last.
The winter twigs break under my strides
Like shards of forgotten brown glass,
Broken beer bottles from the side-effects of young stupidity,
Of a son's rebellion and drunken boasts
"I know what I'm doing Mom! Whatever. You're a joke."
I reach your grave beneath the willow.
I kneel in your presence,
The same slow descent,
Acting with the same manner of respect
As I did on the night of your peaceful passing.
Putting my mouth to the earth,
I whisper words of love and sincerity
Somewhere between your tomb's stone
And the remnants of a shrew's faded white bones.
The rodent was paying homage
Basking in remembrance so long
That he forgot food,
The mouse died where he sat,
A pious fellow pure of heart
A domesticated, civilized rat
Who loved you, Mother, from afar
Too fearful to approach
Here he died
The day he learned of your last breath's depart.
You would always laugh at my imagination,
Putting my drawings up on the fridge.
I leave the grave, with little satisfaction.
© 2011 Homeschool
AboutAs the name indicates, I was home schooled most of my life. I am now out in the world trying to make sense of things as best I can. I've put a couple years of college under my belt as well, and plan o.. more..
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