Last Christmas With Mama
last christmas, seven years ago, with mama.
we lie on the grass, and when she fell on deep thoughts
of her memories, we were lost,
we look for what bothers her,
we laugh, and
she turns into a petunia, beside me,
and i see all that is violet
in all of them.
five months after she was buried,
i become grateful. i was dancing, i lie beside
the lilies,
seeing every color under the sun,
it is beautiful
she is no other, we are laughing again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa

Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!