It was a kind of family secret,
the paintings without names
Her modesty much stronger than her ego
Explosions of hues and brightness and joy
Capturing light as the mother of reflections on water,
and the spaces between shadows and curves
that spoke through the language of her brushes
It was how she talked to our hearts
when words, at times,
seemed the more difficult path for love
She stopped painting years before she left us,
but she wanted me to have the painting
of the flowers in the vase
A bouquet I gave her long ago for Mother’s Day
It hangs now in our bedroom,
near an eastward facing window,
where her gift assures me
as I turn out the light on another day
some of her will still be here
when I wake tomorrow
-
Author:
Michael Anthony (
Offline) - Published: May 1st, 2021 13:12
- Category: Love
- Views: 27
- User favorite of this poem: Doggerel Dave.
Offline)
Comments3
Her will will always be with you Michael.
Andy
Thanks Andy! This piece will help me remember that.
Great work - tells the story with both texture and rhythm.
Sorry I'm not expressing myself too well here - suffice to say it really moved me.
Thanks Dave! Always appreciate someone taking the time to visit.
(a truly beautiful dedication, thanks for sharing!)
'near an eastward facing window,
where her gift assures me'..
or in other words:
'where a morning's first-glimpsed rising sun, gifts me
a swim - within
nostalgic mementos, of her unwavering beaming smile
and forgiving eyes
that conveyed - wholeheartedly: welcoming warmth...'
I like your reimagining f the last stanza L.B. - beautiful!
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