the next time
it happens you said to be alerted
that next time is now
and you have got to see
this moon through the trees
it is the scene in
every horror flick
the kind of cold
you know the way
a shiver that
hunts you down
and tell the skin to
watch its back
and the fire can’t be
hot enough
and the torch has been passed
to the next one
in line
my sister will not get over the loss
of my mother
but I was here for the
months of pain
and to see the hurt go away
was what I could wish
for a woman who did so much
and the cold trees
missing their leaves
wave goodbye to me
as I go home
to the warm hands
and soft smile that
I need now
so much…

About jaybeasley2

a writer, a painter, a poet, a wordsmith
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