Visiting Father’s Grave

A narrative poem –

 

There was a moment

Of silence

In the garden

That morning

I, but a child

Wrapped in a shawl

To fend off

the cold morning breeze

And mama knelt

Deftly in the grass

Piles of flowers

Held upon her lap

A beautiful array

Of colors

Each chosen

For memories

Strewn across her mind

And unbeknownst to me

At that time

I was but a child

But looking back,

I can see

The morning lily

Red and orange tulips

A spray of daffodil

All flowers

That papa picked

And laid

In swarming rows

Of her garden

He told her

Of their beauty

And wove stories

– Mystical tales

Of how each one

Represented

Just a spark

Of beauty

That resides in her heart

Each and every one

He cherished

And adored

She laid them gently

Arranged in rows

Yellows

Oranges

Reds

Whites

Their splendor

Touched her heart

And she began to weep.

I shyly looked away.

She stood

Gathering the flowers

Gently brushed aside

The dirt and grass

From her skirt

And she sighed

Deep and heavy

From the depths

Of her heart

She wiped away

Her tears

And slowly walked

Holding my hand

Toward father’s grave.

 

© Sumyanna 2016

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