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Nursing Home Memory
Sigils where words
should be.
past future dreams.
Yellow marks, tear marks
...tear...marks...
and the years compressed
into pages.
Who will know?
when these bones
turn to dust?
who will even care?
Words unspoken unwritten.
The hands crossed
resting forever.
Let me say it for you.
"I was here"
This Poem Is So Human
the images are familiar and poignant and widely experienced by families. The last line is perfection (and I don't say that often). - Stella -
Thank you friend, I am really
Thank you friend, I am really touched.