In witch hazel days remembering you
sweeping sweeping under the rug all that
was possibly carrying the smoky scent of
scandal an invisible wisp of shame in the shape of
the big D word D for divorce of course you
never told that detail and what about the
burden the bump the huge lump you managed
to stuff under the rug that which your father so
inconveniently committed the unmentionable
reason that took your mother to the cemetery every
day from that time until her own forever
burial beside his failed aristocrat persona
Remembering your constant refrains appropriate
behavior what people will think don’t make us ashamed
Divining the truth later
In days of peach-colored cotton candy
clouds rising from the valley at dawn the
moon a crescent fingernail clipping remembering
you when you didn’t know anyone not even your
Self in the hospital a flicker of fear in your eyes lashing
stomping your heels swearing tied into a chair sliding
floorward mistaking me for your cousin asking whatever
happened to the other woman giving your wedding
ring to a stranger muttering who are your
children maybe they do not know
Remembering you stone-faced vanishing
into silence where I could
no longer follow