in the wake of spring

rain pic

It is spring

and the rain spills its large drops on my bare legs,

sandled feet.

In hair

loose in a pony tail

that sits across my shoulders.

On my face,

where tears

go unnoticed

in the down pour.

It is true what she says,

that rain is a kind

of letting go.

It is so much nicer than the sun,

she often says.

Maybe if I wait a while

I will listen to its music

and slowly

let go.

And accept

two deaths

in the wake of spring;

-my mother’s parting-

her cold

alabaster skin, pale like the lilies that filled my room when she died.

and the second death –

when my heart knew it was over

and I was left with pieces

of myself I had to put back together.

J. Hamilton











In my hair

on my face,




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