Painted in Tones of Argent

For the weekly 55.  When I wrote this, my mother was dying. She has since died.

Painted in Tones of Argent
My backyard sleeps under
the full moon like a drowned Atlantis.
I sit on my back steps inhaling
the scents of honeysuckle and
a whiff of pot from my neighbors’-
A faint scent of petrichor:
the storm breaks
weeping on the trees.
My mother is dying.

8 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Kerry O'Connor
    Jul 13, 2018 @ 21:43:33

    I am very sorry for your loss, Toni. You capture a moment, a brief respite, during a painful time, when only nature and time itself can offer comfort. It is beautiful in itself.

    Reply

  2. Brendan
    Jul 14, 2018 @ 07:22:36

    The immensity of these moments — etched forever in us — yet have such fleeting presence. They become iconic of the heart. You brought the reader exactly there and when. My father passed a few weeks ago the day after Father’s Day — a Monday — I was at work at my desk as my brother who was there with him texted the hours of last moments. I’ll never forget the vigil.

    Reply

    • kanzensakura
      Jul 14, 2018 @ 08:31:23

      Oh Brendan. I am so sorry to hear this. It is so painful to lose a beloved parent. My mother died a year ago on Father’s day. She was suffering so. Yes the moments are forever tattooed on our hearts. I have read your poems in which you wrote about your father. The lovr there, on both sides is so palpable. I truly do not know to say except I am sorry. I wish I could say it gets better. The pain sort of blurs but…my father died 35 years ago. It still hurts. But I wish you to find peace. I will lift up you and your family in prayer.

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      Reply

  3. annell4
    Jul 14, 2018 @ 09:40:03

    The death of our Mothers is such a sad time! Sad, sacred, tender, and it is a time we will never forget, it doesn’t get better with time, but it does change. I am so sorry you have suffered this loss.

    Reply

  4. Victoria C. Slotto
    Jul 14, 2018 @ 21:49:28

    I remember this. 😢😇

    Reply

  5. willow88switches
    Jul 15, 2018 @ 19:39:32

    This is a slow poem, a very soft and gentle exhalation, borne on the wings of waiting – for that which is inevitable, but all too close. And to be able to sit, and translate a wealth of emotions, into something so fine, and so attuned to the natural world – without pulling us into “personal details” – is truly special. It therefore is entirely personal to you, of course, naturally, but transcends to the universal, and if anything, offers us a moment, when perhaps, in the maelstrom, we can find a moment to breathe, and perhaps shed tears, of release.

    Of course, I offer you my sympathies, as you have just passed an anniversary for your mother’s death. And I hope you find peace and comfort, as best you can.

    Reply

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