William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

Long Time Passing

My mother grew sweet alyssum in the bed by the porch.

That is my childhood. There is more, of course.

Her birthday on the Fourth. And the force that transformed us.

Mind gone, her body a torch. Mine gone, to alyssum.

And a smile that could be a rainbow, or door.

A limb to sing from? A wind chime? A breeze? An arch?

Categories: First Publication

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