Every year
The anniversary
Of the child’s death
Comes around,
The day marked
In her mind
Without calendar words
Or date inked in.
Not that she forgets
The child’s demise,
She only has to look
In the mirror
And see it in her eyes
Or wake
In the early hours
In the chilled dark
To know
The deep ache
Is still there.
But this yearly reminder
Sets it down
That another
Twelve months
Have moved on,
And while
The outer world
Going its excited way,
She must take her way
At grief’s slow crawl
Along the path of memories,
And day by day
Feel the knock
All over again
Within her mind
And wounded heart,
The day her life
Was torn apart.
Comments
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This poem poked at my heart and the last stanza left a bit of music in my mind.
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Thank you, Patrick.
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