Poem: A Little Askew

Crow On The Wire

You change when your mother dies.
Life is a little askew
like a picture that won’t hang straight
or a sliding door
that always rolls off the hinges.

You notice your image in a mirror,
and your pulse speeds up.
You don’t have much of a heart
or an appetite
but you do remember
your mother’s anniversary date
and the color of her eyes.

Your life changes when your mother dies.
No more visits or homemade pies.
No Sunday phone calls or question why’s.
You feel guilty for things you never said.
You wake in the middle of the night only to realize
that the one person who truly loved you
has her face on a plastic prayer card
that sits on your bedroom dresser.

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