Thursday, October 20, 2005

One Dead Mother

My mother's been dead for weeks years
but still I see her ghost floating the halls
pale, sagged skin, cheap wine in her hand
Instead of rattling chains
she sneezes and still cries of things that brought
her down
an unrelenting job, an insane bitch mother,
a husband that wouldn't understand,
wouldn't shut up,
and kids that never listened
never stopped consuming her purse, refrigerator,
and phone bills
She comes and goes
and I leave her alone
She never told me she was leaving
and she never tells me when she's here
So far away
to stay

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