Headstone

Sitting with legs crunched
in an armchair
apple of my eye
over by the table
my pen and me
thinking together
sadness evoked
by the sunny weather
because behind the curtain
after she took her last breath
there also shone a brilliant desert sun
and I knew not how to comfort
myself
or the child in me
and gosh
I hate memories
that are locked
in the cool breezeway of
contemplation
that if I just rub my hand against
the cold cement I can pick up the
fading imprint of a chapter of my life
when I helped close Her Book of Life
and began to think seriously
about writing mine.
@4/2001