Her bones rattle about in my brain,
nights when my mind is still,
reminding me of her presence,
absence
lingering
after so many years...
I have tried to erase her,
stuffed the photos replaying
our days
into the deep
gullies of my soul.
Yet I still miss
the touch of her braiding
my unruly brown hair,
her violet scent,
fuchsia nails,
and her deep golden laughter
when I sat
at her feet for storytime,
stories now faded,
swallowed
into the
purple haze of dawn.
Pris Campbell
(c)2002
In loving memory of my mother
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