Well-Wishing a Headstone

 



I wanted to bring a bouquet,
bouquet of sterling petals,
petals for my marble mother,
mother of downy nettles.

If I could just nestle beneath,
beneath the autumn leaves,
leaves left me buried, awaiting,
awaiting to clasp your sleeves.

I miss that soft caress,
caress of woolen sweater,
sweater so well crafted,
crafted for the fall weather.

Wrapping paper seemed gaudy,
gaudy without your glow,
glow from every single stitch,
stitch of a plaid-print bow. 

So many eggs left naked,
naked without their color,
color of the stricken blind,
blind without you, mother. 

One more celebration,
celebration by myself,
myself with a plastic frame,
frame your visage on the shelf.