Plaster Hand.

Beasts of Articulation

I have this plaster hand…
Likened to yours;
Hanging above the kitchen door…
The one we made so long ago…
On Christmas Eve Day, just bored…
I have a poem written…
By your tiny hand;
As tiny as the one that hangs…
Above the kitchen door frame…
It says “Mommy I Love You”…
And the Gods help me…
If when I pass it by, I don’t hear the words…
In a sigh, a whispering…
I keep a tiny, silver jewelry box…
The one you saved up for;
Inscribed across the dusty top …
Is chiseled in, beautifully:
“I Love You Mommy”…
And “Mommy” dies a little more…
I have all these haunting memories…
Of having future plans;
Fulfilling hopes and dreams…
Just you and I surviving…
Getting back up to stand…
I saved these Christmas things…
Yours and mine;
Stored away like a box to mourn…
Every year, when it’s…

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2 thoughts on “Plaster Hand.

  1. kat says:

    i have these feelings too, even tho my daughter is still here. but i see these things from long ago, from me to her, and her to me, and i wonder where those moments have gone…even tho she’s here, something specially magical has gone. and i wonder what more i could have done.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hugs, Sweetie…
      I have had to be force-fed the notion over time, but eventually learned to let go of those thoughts for the most part, because they are enough to kill ya…
      Obviously, I still think of them, but not as much any more. Xx

      Liked by 1 person

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