When The Souls Come In

then we remember
i
too remember how grandmother
was left home alone
to care for herself

cranky, brittle bones,
moving like a snail
serving herself
with her own
porridge on such
a cold
rainy day in
the village

i fully remember how she
fell on
a big basket
unable to rise from
that big hole
of a casket
seemingly

but mother did not really
care as she was also
with her business of
daily living
on how to make both ends
meet
with her five
children

as father drowns himself
with his
heavy drinking
somehow someone must make
us all live
to draw a future

and this my friend is
my version of
what happens to our thoughts
when some
souls come in
on this
rainy day
of November

we light a candle for
sadness
and it is not just
one.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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