Amber Beads
As the flames engulfed
my worldly possessions
my everything
seemed to disappear.
But I did not cry
for the loss of the money -
I cried for the
photographs,
and the poems, and the amber beads.
I love you, mother,
and I love the mother
who died while I
rested in your womb.
Sandy tells me stories
of visiting Grandma
and eating pickles.
And I remember
every spring,
every Mother’s Day,
you would diligently
plant flowers
around the
Bakutis name.
I have learned
to love her
without ever seeing
her face.
Joseph tells me
that I seem like
my mother
and I only pray to God
that he’s right.
For then my existence
would keep the love
and the caring alive
in a kind of living
that no strike of a match
that no burning building
that no mere mortal
could destroy.
Copyright Janet Kuypers.
All rights reserved. No material
may be reprinted without express permission.
|
