Missing

March 29, 2011


It’s my Mom’s birthday.

And since she’s not here.

I can tell.

67.

For she’d never allow me to say.

And though I dwell.

In the present.

In the here and the now.

I allow space.

For the longing.

That washes over.

So I can hardly breathe.

With the missing.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: