Remember when we blew kisses and pretended to catch them in our hands?
I gathered yours in a worn brown pouch, stacking them like construction paper hearts, marveling at the eternal mystery:
no matter how full it became, I could always slip my fingertips in and deposit just
one more.
About the Creator
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To My Mother, On Her Deathbed
a/n: This is a poem I wrote to my mother while I was quite literally sitting beside her as she lived - and mainly slept- out her last days. Maybe it's not in the traditional sense, but I believe it's the best poem of comfort I've ever written. To me, it evokes both the comfort I hoped to impart to her to let her know it was okay to leave us, and the comfort her memory still brings to me in small, everyday things. I hope that anyone who's ever lost someone important to them can enjoy it, and relate.
By Raistlin Allen3 years ago in Poets
Comments (6)
I love how you executed this poem. It felt like descriptive micro fiction. I'm Bill. I've subscribed to you. ⚡💙⚡
Absolutely beautiful, I subscribed to you please add me♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️
Great creativity - I didn't even remember until I read your poem, how we caught kisses in our hands. Beautiful poem.
Beautiful poem, so delicate and evocative
What a sweet memory to capture in poetic time! Something to hold on to that brings a smile. I know it did that for me. Great creative crafting!
Fantastic love poem!!!