Poem: Legacy | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Chronogram Magazine
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Poem: Legacy 

My mother smelled of wine
and places I could never go;
throwing words around like so many playthings,
loosely tethered to this earth.

Your mother appeared in my driveway
as a California Poppy last June.
She wanders each year to a different spot
from seeds sown on her birthday in remembrance.

"All you're allowed to say is, 'Amen, Brother!'"
He swore at me when I scoffed
that the blazing autumnal pyre was insufficient
to honor his father's ascension.

I hope that in my time of loss,
you will distract me with anger and
let me linger in the amnesiac abyss upon awakening
where no one is gone.
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