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Rated: E · Poetry · Spiritual · #1633450
Remembering her life and love given us from just one little air molecule rising to lid.
Dying, precious time
elapsing, cooling,
mist rising, as the humid air cedes
to another dry winter’s day.

Confections captured,
preserved, yearning
for their savory freedom.
Just not now;
we wait.

Mother’s apron,
returned to the exposed nail,
hides in the shadow of the pantry.
A few of her canning jars remain,
still begging for service.

Hot tomatoes permeate
this dull kitchen,
salted away, as the red pots soak
in their frothy bath.

Clutching brown-stained mugs,
we stare out the windows at white,
remembering the industrious woman
who fed us long after parting.

We forget to listen
before the sweet harmony begins
with a single, tender metallic
ping!  Such soothing
unharmonious melody ensues.

Can you imagine?
Beneath the lid, being
that last molecule of air?
The last wisp of breath;
life exhaled before dying?

She was my oxygen.
Just one little molecule of air,
she put that there.
She gave me my first.
She gave me her last.

This poem is part of a collection available to ebook readers at the link below:


ASIN: B006PUZY78
Product Type: Kindle Store
Amazon's Price: Price N/A
© Copyright 2010 ~Brian K Compton~ (ripglaedr3 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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