September 2024
Author's Note: My mother lived to see some of the fruits of her labor, but died way too soon to enjoy them all.
my mother's seasons
winter was her childhood
spring her early escape
from the disaster of two parents
fueled by liquor
She married much too young
but the choice was freedom
or return to the daily terror
summer was painfully long
full of children and worry
music and love
as children grew
so did she into full bloom
her fruitful life evident
at every turn
but seasons pass
cannot be postponed
an early harvest by
the grimmest of reapers
left fruit boxes empty
malignancy without mercy
her quiet summer's end
Originally published in as if a caress (Cyberwit Press)
©2024 j.lewis
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