For Mother

Lethe

She holds beads of memory,
loved faces
and fading scars,
with equal reverence
in cupped hands.
Yet one by one they trail
from her fingertips.
She utters a sharp, stifled cry
lasting eternal seconds
as each treasure slips
beneath a strange, grey-glass
sea surface.  This endless gulf
the depth of spider thread
consumes the light of her eyes,
substitutes for her spark
its own vast absence.

Lethe

She holds beads of memory,
loved faces
and fading scars,
with equal reverence
in cupped hands.
Yet one by one they trail
from her fingertips.
She utters a sharp, stifled cry
lasting eternal seconds
as each treasure slips
beneath a strange, grey-glass
sea surface.  This endless gulf
the depth of spider thread
consumes the light of her eyes,
substitutes for her spark
its own vast absence.

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6 thoughts on “For Mother

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