Sierra July
Moonlight
glinted in your eyes
Reminiscent of
sunlight playing
On tiles of our
kitchen nook
Sausage sizzled
and eggs fluffed
And yellowed as
I scrambled,
While you
painted your hands in
Pancake flour,
butter scent.
That was
morning, half day past
Now there is
moon in your eyes,
Bright but
flat, missing spark where,
Earlier, your
soul lit them
Poet's Notes: This is another one I wrote after my
dad's passing. It was written after reminiscing over old times with my mom.
Little things like his making breakfast was something she could recount so
perfectly, I had to try painting that picture with my words too. I tried to
write from her perspective. In the end, its message is that these times are
both fleeting and precious and should be treasured.
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