Morning

In the early hours of the morning

Before the sun rose

And the trees rustled with birds flying to and from their nests

I remembered

How you lay in your bed

In the half light,

Cheeks flushed like pink azaleas,

Your sleepy face on your pillow

Next to my daughter’s.

She curled up beside you

With her hair

Spilling across the thin fabric of your pillow

Like golden sap.

I know how the moments

Seemed to stand still for awhile,

How the years seemed to have traveled back

To the room where you slept when I was a child.

Your bed was my sanctuary,

The sacred place where

Fears and nightmares were obsolete.

I can see how your thoughts took you

to that place when your granddaughter

Lay beside you

And you said my name.

In the those moments she became me

All those years ago

Before I grew and changed and forgot what it was like to live

In that safe place you had spun for me

Where the silk fibres of my existence lay

In this safe yet delicate construction.

By J. Hamilton

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River

Inside is this river where Charon waits.

There is darkness here where our journey ends.

Your hands are empty.

No fireflies in glass jars.

Lethe waits for us,

to drink the water

that helps us to forget.

By. J. Hamilton