I whistled past the graveyard yesterday.
She’s gone but lingers still in eyes and smiles of mine and other’s children.
In quiet vigil, I spoke not a word while the silent anniversary of her passing broke the air.
I held her grandchildren tightly as I tucked them in.
I wrapped them in child blankets made with crippled hands.
I stroked her hair upon their heads and kissed her lips upon their face.
I read them poems from a book she read to me.
So many years gone and her scent is still upon me.
Memory of cold hard hands and icy stare still curse, bless me.
I dream of being held as I dreamed when still she could.
She is gone – and not – and I still see her here.