Noise of Silent Vigil

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.

~ bosco